


And you yourself shall keep the key of it

by RubyCaspar



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post Series, head injuries, many tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyCaspar/pseuds/RubyCaspar
Summary: Jack is all set to follow Phryne until a bad accident in a raid leaves him with a serious head injury. When he wakes up, he can't remember anything of the last seventeen months, and as far as he's concerned, Miss Fisher is just that rather exasperating, eccentric lady who's interfered with two of his murder investigations.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first foray into MFMM fic, and I'm starting with a tropey WIP... start as I mean to go on, I guess! I should probably state for the record that I have no actual knowledge of head injuries or amnesia, so will be making most of this up with the aid of a couple of Wikipedia searches...

**PROLOGUE**

 

___ ‘Tis in my memory locked, and you yourself shall keep the key of it ~ ' _ Hamlet' Act 1 Scene 4

 

Jack ducked out of the telegraph office, tucking his message receipts into his jacket pocket. It had been a long time since he'd sent a long-distance telegram and he'd forgotten how much they cost. At least _his_ had been short. Since the office was on his way home from the station he'd offered to send a message for Collins as well - he made a note to himself to teach Mrs Collins some telegram shorthand.

 

It was a light, balmy evening, a spring evening in full bloom. This was Jack’s favourite time of the year, a time for long walks, longer bicycle rides and afternoons spent in the garden among his flowerbeds… but he was willingly - eagerly - going to be swapping Melbourne in the spring for London in the autumn.

 

He hadn't ever imagined he'd experience another European winter, but in just over four weeks he'd be stepping off the boat, hopefully straight into Phryne’s arms.

 

Jack shook his head at his sentimental thoughts and made his way to his car. Once he got home he emptied his pockets onto the hallway table and headed for the kitchen to prepare a light supper, thinking he might have it in the garden, since he wouldn't get another chance to eat al fresco for quite some time.

 

He'd been home barely five minutes when the telephone rang, and even before answering Jack knew it would be either his sister (unlikely), the morgue (more likely) or the station calling him in (most likely of all). Sure enough, it was Constable Granger, who was on the evening shift.

 

“ _Sorry to bother you at home, sir, but Constable Collins told me to call you -_ ”

 

“It's fine, Granger, what is it?” Granger was fresh out of the academy and shared Collins’ old habit of beating around the bush.

 

“ _It's Keown, sir, he's been spotted._ ”

 

“Where?”

 

“ _A unit downtown tailed him to the docks, the old Forster depot - Central have set up a perimeter but they know you've been on the case so they called here._ ”

 

“Is Collins already on his way there?”

 

“ _Yes sir, with Sanders._ ”

 

“Good. Thank you Granger, I'm on my way.”

 

Jack hung up the phone and hurried to turn off the stove and throw his jacket back on. Keown was the head of a vicious drug smuggling ring that they'd come this close to nabbing a few years before, just after Collins joined the force, but he'd gone underground and not been seen until a month ago when his name had started cropping up in interrogations again. If they'd managed to secure the perimeter, maybe they'd finally get the bastard, but Jack needed to get down there, quickly. Jacket on, he picked up his hat, his gun and his badge, and hurried out of the door.

 

Collins and Sanders were standing by his car on the edge of the docks, a couple of blocks down from the old Forster depot. Jack pulled up behind their car and greeted them with a nod.

 

“Who’s here from Central?” He asked as he walked over to them.

 

“Lieutenant Olsen is one block over,” Collins said. Jack nodded again and walked over to speak to the Lieutenant about the perimeter. Keown was still in the depot, and the perimeter was in place and ready to move in. Jack made his way back to Collins.

 

“We move in at twenty past, pass the message along Sanders,” he ordered the young constable, who nodded and quickly moved away.

 

He and Collins stood in silence for a few moments before Jack spoke up. “I sent the telegram,” he said.

 

“Oh, thank you sir,” Collins said. “I really appreciate it. Dottie really wants her message to get to London before Miss Fisher arrives there.”

 

“I’m sure it will,” Jack said. “If Miss Fisher is already in London she’ll have beaten the world record.”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past her, sir.”

 

Jack smirked. “No, maybe not.” He checked his gun methodically and looked at his watch. One minute to go.

 

“We need to have a talk in the morning, Collins,” he said. “I’m taking an extended vacation.”

 

Collins’ eyes widened. “Oh?”

 

Sanders came jogging back over, and Jack nodded to him before looking back over at Collins. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

 

Collins nodded, and Jack gave the nod to him and all the other officers in his line of sight. The perimeter began to close in.

 

Later, all Collins was able to say, over and over, was that it happened so quickly there was nothing he could do. There was a firefight, and a lot of shouting, and one of Keown’s men tried to escape in a car. Someone blew out one of the tires, and the car crashed hard into a beam, right next to where the Inspector was positioned. A chunk of the roof of the dilapidated depot came crashing down on the car and onto the pavement outside the building - tiles, bricks and half a rotten beam - and when Collins reached the area, the Inspector was half-buried, face down on the ground with blood running down his neck from the back of his head.

  
  



	2. One

 

It had been an uncomfortable, challenging, cold and, above all, _irritating_ two and a half weeks, but Phryne and her father touched down safely on British soil a full fortnight before the ship he was supposed to have sailed on was due to arrive. She hadn’t quite beaten the record for a Melbourne to London hop, but the record holder hadn’t had to contend with a passenger who complained at every turn, had to be practically dragged to the airfield each morning, and who had flat out refused to board the plane on the tenth day because he’d had too much vodka the night before.

Quite frankly, Phryne felt she deserved a bloody medal.

Her parents’ driver was waiting for them at the airfield, and they were pulling up outside the family estate within the hour. Her father looked even more nauseated than he had on that tenth morning, and after a rather hurried hello to her mother Phryne took herself up to her rooms for a hot bath, leaving her parents to what she felt sure would be a rather fractious reunion.

A fire had been lit in her bedroom, and a maid was already running the bath for her in the en suite. Phryne peeled off her scarf, and then carefully removed the small swallow pin that she’d worn for the entire trip. She took it over to the dressing table, and it was then that she noticed the telegrams, sitting on a silver tray on the side of the table.

Phryne snatched them up. There were four of them, and they were all marked as long distance.

The first was a long one from Dot, asking for news that she had arrived safely and sending her love. The second was from Mac, telling her to hurry back because Melbourne was dreadfully dull without her and that she’d missed two murders already. The third was from Mr Butler, assuring her all her instructions regarding the house had been carried out.

Each message brought a smile to Phryne’s face, but she couldn’t help a small stab of disappointment each time she read the sender’s name and it wasn’t _his_. She was certain that Jack would have sent her a message, and so she reached for the fourth and final telegram sure that she would finally see his name. She tore the envelope open and her heart leapt so noticeably when she caught a glimpse of the word ‘Robinson’ that she actually forced herself to pause before opening it.

She shook her head, but found herself smiling ruefully - honestly, she was like a giddy schoolgirl. She smoothed out the message, her smile slipping when she saw how short it was. It became a delighted grin, however, once she’d read it.

ARR LON NOV 16 ORAMA STOP TEMPEST A 3 S 1 63 65

He was coming after her. Jack Robinson was coming to London.

It was all Phryne could do not to break into a giddy dance on the spot - as it was she found herself turning a complete circle, grinning at every corner of the room. Every day in her plane and every night in whatever bed she found herself, she’d replayed her last meeting with Jack at the airfield over and over again, and she’d been both elated and terrified at the thought of Jack taking her at her word and following her to England. Now, she held the proof of his coming in her hand, and she was nothing short of thrilled.

She missed him. Yes, she wanted to kiss him again, wanted to ruffle up that perfectly pomaded hair and rumple that immaculate three piece suit and _finally_ get him into her bed…. but more than that she just wanted to have him near. She missed winding down in her parlour at the end of the day with him, missed discussing what she’d seen or experienced, missed sharing snippets of her past and drawing his own stories from him, missed his steady, warm body next to her, missed his gentle humour and his smirks and the look in his eyes when she stepped into his personal space.

Two weeks of no sight of him, no contact whatsoever, had been harder to bear than Phryne could have imagined, and would never have believed until recently. Phryne sighed and looked down at the telegram again. November 16th - it was over four weeks away, both far too far away and not enough time to prepare herself.

She read the telegram again, focusing on the second half. _TEMPEST A 3 S 1 63 65_ … Phryne’s eyes widened in understanding - perhaps the message wasn't quite as short as she’d thought.

The maid walked out of the bathroom at that moment, and Phryne smiled at her.  
  
“I don't think we've met before. What's your name?”

“Emily, Miss Fisher,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

“Emily, could you please pop down to the library and fetch me the folio of Shakespeare’s comedies? I’d also love a glass of sherry while I have my bath if you'd be so kind.”

Emily curtsied again and hurried out of the room, and Phryne carried her telegram into the bathroom with her, placing it carefully on the side table next to the claw-footed bath. Lavender-scented steam filled the room, and she was quick to strip out of her clinging, grimy flying clothes and slip into the water.

Emily came back into the room, a full sherry glass in one hand and a leather-bound book in the other. Phryne took the sherry with a smile and a thank you, and gestured for Emily to place the book on the table. She took a sip of the sherry as Emily curtsied her way out the room, but as soon as she was gone Phryne put down the glass and picked up the book.

She was too impatient to check the contents page, so instead flicked through until she found _The Tempest_ , and then turned the pages until she found Act Three, Scene One. It was the scene in which Ferdinand and Miranda declared their love for each other, and Phryne’s heart pounded as she ran her finger down the lines, stopping at line sixty-three, in the middle of one of Ferdinand’s speeches:

_Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service_

Phryne sat staring at the words on the page for several long moments, before taking a shuddering breath and closing her eyes. She could almost hear his voice speaking the words in her ear, so easily could she imagine him saying them. She placed the telegram as a marker for the page, closed the book and carefully put it back on the table.

And with a happy sigh, Phryne slid completely down into the hot water of the bath.

XXX

Phryne slept late the next morning, but as soon as she was awake she wrote replies to all of the telegrams, long as she could manage. She had spent a lot of her bath considering how best to answer Jack’s, but in the end her message to him was barely more than a word. Even so, she thought he'd appreciate it. By her calculation the Orama would be leaving Melbourne within a day or two, so she'd need the telegram to be sent immediately to be in with a chance of catching him before he left.

She gave the messages to a footman to take to the telegraph office at once, and went to join her parents for a late breakfast. They seemed happy, if a little awkward, and so Phryne congratulated herself on her impulsive decision to fly halfway around the world on a day’s notice. The decision seemed to have paid dividends already anyway - she had a telegram upstairs with a Shakespearean quote on it as proof of that.

Her mother wanted to take Phryne visiting with her that morning, and she agreed. There were a great many of her own friends she would rather visit, but she hadn’t seen her mother in well over a year and her London set could wait a day or two while she played the dutiful daughter.

The footman she had sent to the telegraph office was walking across the hall towards her as she left the breakfast-room, and he handed her another long-distance telegram that had arrived that morning. She thanked him and took it upstairs, wondering who else might have sent her a message. Bert and Cec wouldn’t bother with the expense. Jane might have sent it, but she preferred to write letters. Perhaps it was another quote from Jack... Phryne smiled to herself as she opened the envelope.

It was from Mac, and the teasing tone of her other telegram had disappeared.

INSP R INJRD IN RAID STOP WONT MAKE BOAT STOP UPD TO FLLW

It took several readings for Phryne to fully comprehend what Mac was saying, and once she did she sat down heavily on her bed, staring at the paper in her hand. _Jack was hurt_. Hurt badly enough to miss the boat. Mac said it had happened in a raid… what if he had been shot? What if it was serious?

Phryne stood and read the telegram again, as if there would suddenly be more information to be garnered from it. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She shouldn’t think the worst. She knew Mac - if it was serious, really serious, her friend would tell her. As it was, she must have known that Jack was booked on the Orama, and so had sent the message just to forewarn Phryne that Jack’s plans had been scuppered. In fact, it was probably Jack himself who had asked her to send the telegram. She could just imagine him, being forced to stay in a hospital bed for the day and getting agitated because he couldn’t make the boat or tell her that he was missing it.

Yes, that would be it. It was nothing to worry about - just… inconvenient. And very bad luck for Jack. Phryne sat down at her writing desk and wrote out another quick telegram to Mac, instructing her to tell Jack that she’d expect him to make the next boat with no excuses. She knew Mac would read between the lines and get Jack to contact her himself, so she was confident of a reply soon.

She arranged for the telegram to be sent, and then spent the rest of the morning visiting neighbours with her mother, trying not to let her mind dwell on Jack. Unfortunately, her mother’s friends weren’t quite interesting enough to stop herself thinking about what might be happening back in Melbourne. He must have been taken to the university hospital, since Mac had clearly spoken with him before sending the telegram to her. She wondered if he’d had to stay overnight. She wondered what he was like as a patient. She wondered if Mac was overseeing his care, or if she was too busy with her coroner duties. She wondered if he was in a lot of pain. She wondered if anyone was making sure that he was resting if he needed it. She wondered if anyone was making sure he ate. She wondered if Dot had been to visit him, wondered if she’d taken him some food, wondered how long it would be before he could send her another telegram, wondered when the next boat to England was, wondered if his injury would prevent him from taking that boat as well.

Needless to say, Phryne didn’t have much luck in stopping her thoughts from drifting back to Jack for the rest of the day, or during a restless dinner with her parents, or overnight. The next day, when she might expect to hear back from Jack with an update, was worse - Phryne spent the morning on edge, jumping every time a member of the staff came into her line of sight, until eventually she had to get out of the house somehow, and ended up spending the afternoon riding around the estate with her mother. Ordinarily Phryne loved to ride, and it was a pastime she didn’t much indulge in in Australia, but she found that the further away she was from the house, the more she worried she would miss some news.

Which was ridiculous, of course. It was a telegram, not a telephone call. She wouldn’t miss it, and delaying reading the thing by an hour wasn’t going to make any difference to Jack’s recovery.

Just to her peace of mind.

They returned to the house as the afternoon light started to fade, to change before going to dinner at a neighbouring estate, and Phryne hadn’t realised just how silent she’d been until her mother felt the need to comment on it.

“My dear, you do seem out of sorts today,” Lady Fisher said as she handed her riding gloves to a maid. “You must still be very tired from your journey, why don’t you stay home and rest this evening?”

Phryne shook her head. “I'm not tired, I'm… fine.” She turned away from her mother to hide her expression - honestly, she was usually a better liar.

“Darling,” her mother said, in a tone that clearly indicated she wasn’t fooled for a moment.

Phryne sighed and turned back to her. “I'm a little worried about Inspector Robinson,” she said. She’d told her mother about Mac’s news the previous day, when she had asked about her Melbourne friends, but they hadn’t discussed it since. Considering how casually Phryne had mentioned it, and how quickly she’d changed the subject, it was no wonder that her mother hadn’t thought that it could be bothering her, or that she looked as surprised as she now did.

“Oh my dear, I'm sure he's fine,” she said, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and flippant.

Phryne nodded and strode across the hallway towards the sweeping staircase. “I'm sure too,” she said, as her mother followed in her wake. “I just don't like being so far away while he's… you know I don’t like not knowing things. I'm just a little... distracted.”

Her mother was silent as they ascended to the first floor, where their rooms were. Phryne looked at her when they reached the landing, and saw that her mother looked thoughtful, and that there was a hint of a smirk around her mouth. “I must say I'm intrigued to meet this policeman of yours,” she said.

Phryne had to smile at her airy tone. “Perhaps you will,” she said. “He was going to visit London- I'm sure he will do so just as soon as he's recovered.”

Lady Fisher looked genuinely shocked at this news. “He's coming to London?” She asked, stopping. “You asked him to come to London with you?”

Phryne waved a hand dismissively. “Not _with_ me- I just suggested he might like to… visit.”

Her mother’s smirk was full-blown now, and Phryne looked away. It wasn’t that she minded being teased, it was just that for the first time she considered the possibility that he _wouldn’t_ come, and she found that she was truly upset by the idea.

She wasn’t used to being upset by anything a man did or didn’t do... not for a long time. It was… _disconcerting_.

At that moment, a footman appeared at the bottom of the staircase, bearing a silver tray. “Excuse me ma’am- a telegram arrived for you,” he said to Phryne. He began to walk up the stairs, but Phryne was too impatient, and hurried down to meet him halfway.

“Thank you Wilson,” she murmured as she tore open the envelope, unable to wait a moment longer for news. The first thing she saw was that it was from Mac again, and Phryne felt her heart drop.

Her mother walked down a couple of stairs and leant against the banister. “Is it from the inspector?” She said teasingly. “ _Do_ tell me when we can expect him, I am positively _agog_ to make his acquaintance- Phryne?”

Phryne had frozen, the telegram clenched in her hand, the words swimming on the page in front of her. She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder and she gasped a deep breath. “Phryne, darling, what's wrong?”

Her mother reached for the telegram, and Phryne let it go. She’d only needed to read it once for the words to be branded on her memory.

SRS HEAD INJ NO TRAVEL STOP SURGRY YSTDY STOP COMA STOP UPD TO FLLW

Lady Fisher gasped as she read it herself. “Oh, darling -”

But Phryne was already at the top of the stairs, hurrying to her room.

She needed to pack.

 

 

 


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was difficult to get out! Turns out the mindset of a coma patient is hard to get into when you don't have any experience of anything of the kind... Thanks for all the feedback, hope you enjoy this installment!

It was dark, and oppressively warm, and though he couldn’t feel a weight on him, he nevertheless felt like there was something on top of him, pinning him down. He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. He tried to move, but nothing happened. It was just… dark. His mind drifted away again.

 

He heard something, a kind of tapping sound. It got louder and stopped, then started again until it faded back into nothing. He didn’t know how much time passed, but it happened again. It kept happening. He tried to turn towards the sound, but couldn’t. Still, it was oddly comforting.

 

The next time he was aware of anything, it was of pain. It was throbbing, burning at him. It was almost unbearable, but he couldn’t call out, and he drifted.

 

The tapping started again, but this time when he tried to turn toward the sound he felt something new - the rough feel of something against his ear, a sharp pain in the back of his head. His eyes flew open.

 

The light was blinding, and he closed his eyes again, instinctively turning his head away, which brought another sharp stab of pain to his head. He hissed and started to reach up to touch his head, but the movement sent a bolt of pain far worse than before down his arm, so strong it made him cry out.

 

“Inspector?”

 

He turned towards the voice, but everything was fading again. He tried to open his eyes but he couldn’t… the last thing he was aware of was the tapping sound, fading away, the tapping much faster than he’d heard it before. This time when his mind drifted, he saw things.

 

He could hear voices, as if from far away, but couldn’t understand what they were saying. He saw sun shining on grass, heard a woman laughing. He was in his office, and there were books piled on his desk where the case reports usually were. The phone rang, and there were gunshots. It was dark and there was a crash, and someone yelled his name. He tried to answer them, but nothing came out.

 

“Inspector?”

 

He opened his eyes. The light wasn’t as blinding as before, but it was all he could do to keep them open. He felt something touch his shoulder, and the moment he registered the touch he also registered the pain. It felt like it was all over - deep, thrumming through his veins. He closed his eyes against it and felt himself start to drift away again.

 

“Inspector!”

 

His eyes opened again, barely, and he felt the pressure on his shoulder increase.

 

“Drink,” the voice said.

 

He felt something cold against his bottom lip, and then water filled his mouth. He swallowed instinctively, and then coughed. The pain rose to a crescendo at the compulsive movement, and he cried out, wanting to fold in on himself but finding it only hurt more.

 

“It’s alright, you’re alright - try and have some more…”

 

But his eyes were already closing, and the darkness closed in again.

 

The next time was slower. The sounds came first - first the tapping, then a ticking. For the first time he was able to identify the sounds - footsteps, coming and going, and a clock. He heard the soft murmur of voices, too far away to understand what they were saying, but he knew it was a man and a woman talking. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing, several times.

 

Next came the pain. It wasn’t as sharp or relentless as it had felt before, but it was a constant. His head was aching. His right arm was throbbing in time to his heartbeat. It hurt to breath.

 

With the awareness of the pain came an awareness of his body - he was lying down, on a bed, and he could feel sheets when he moved. It hurt to do it, so he stopped.

 

His throat was dry and he was bone-weary, but he felt… well, like he could _feel_. He felt present for the first time in he didn’t know how long.

 

Clearly, something had happened. The sensation of waking up in a strange bed in pain with little memory of how he’d got there was not a new one. For a moment he could almost smell the gunpowder, the mud and sweat and blood that had accompanied that last injury, but he took a deep breath and tasted the real air around him, which was nothing but bed linen and antiseptic.

 

The deep breath just aggravated his dry throat, and he coughed. This time he felt where the pain was - it shot across his chest, his shoulder, and down his right arm. He groaned and tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry for it. He coughed again, groaned again.

 

He opened his eyes. He was in a hospital room, as he knew he would be. It was daytime, but there were blinds on the windows, filtering the light into something more manageable on his eyes. He was almost flat on his back, and he didn’t trust himself to try and sit up. He tried to call out but found he had no voice.

 

His eyes were feeling heavy again, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He needed to know what was going on, what was wrong with him, what had happened. He didn’t want to sink back down into the darkness again.

 

He tried another swallow and started coughing again, louder and far more painful than before - this time, in the midst of it, the door to the room opened and though Jack couldn’t raise his head enough to look properly who had come in, he heard a woman’s voice.

 

“Oh! I - Esme, quick, get Doctor Landry! He’s awake!”

 

A moment later a young nurse was by the side of his bed, holding a glass to his mouth. “Drink this.”

 

Jack raised his head as much as he could - his shoulder screamed in pain and his head swam, but he gulped the water as though he hadn’t drunk anything for days.

 

“Relax now, Inspector, try not to move, the doctor is coming,” she said as she took the glass away.

 

Jack swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. It took a few moments for his voice to come and when it did he sounded impossibly hoarse, but it was a marked improvement over no voice at all. “What… hospital?” He managed.

 

“You’re in the University Hospital,” the nurse said. “Relax.”

 

It was easier said than done, when his mind was racing and his body felt like he’d been hit by a truck. For all he knew, he _had_ been hit by a truck. He stared at the ceiling and tried to remember anything about how he’d come to be here. He remembered sitting at his desk, finishing up paperwork on his latest case and checking reports… but that was it. Frustrating as it could be, he doubted paperwork had been enough to land him in the hospital.

 

The door opened again, and heavier footsteps approached the bed until a middle-aged bald man came into view. He wore a white coat and a smile.

 

“Hello, Inspector,” he said jovially. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He reached out and took hold of Jack’s left wrist, measuring his pulse. “My name is Doctor Landry - can you please tell me your full name?”

 

Jack swallowed. “John Samuel Robinson,” he said.

 

The doctor nodded. “Good, and what is your address?”

 

Jack had to pause before answering - he was already fighting against falling asleep again. “Seventeen Yarwood Grove.”

 

“Excellent,” the doctor said. He leant forward and peered into Jack’s eyes, gently pulling his eyelids up one at a time. Even that gentle touch somehow made Jack’s chest and shoulder hurt, and the pain jolted him awake a little.

 

“And can you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up here?”

 

“I… I was in my office,” Jack said. “Finishing off paperwork from my latest case. Collins brought me the last of the reports and I… that’s it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“ _Good_?” Jack repeated incredulously. “But I don’t remember why I… how I came to be here.”

 

The doctor shrugged, and Jack wanted to glare but found his eyes were slipping closed again. “That’s not unusual, for a head injury like yours,” the doctor said.

 

Jack blinked hard and forced his eyes open. “Head injury?”

 

The doctor just smiled again. “It’s important that you rest,” he said. “Nurse Howard will bring you some soup, try to eat something, and then get some sleep. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”

 

“I -”

 

But the doctor was already sweeping out of the room, and the nurse hurried out after him, leaving Jack alone in the room again.

 

Jack’s hands started to curl into fists of their own volition, but he stopped quickly since that _hurt_. So, he had a head injury - his arm hurt more than his head so clearly there was more to it than that, but that would explain why he’d been unconscious. It was disconcerting that he couldn’t remember the incident that had caused his injury, but he supposed he should count himself lucky that it hadn’t been worse. Besides, perhaps he was better off not remembering - he remembered snippets of how the shrapnel that tore into his side in the trenches, and it was definitely a memory he could do without.

 

He started to drift again - this time he made a fist on purpose, wanting the pain to wake him. It did, but only for a few seconds.

 

Luckily the nurse returned then, with food on a tray, accompanied by another nurse holding two pillows. Together they helped Jack to sit up and propped the pillows behind him - the movement made his shoulder and chest sear with pain and his head spin so much that he had to close his eyes for several long moments to stop the room swimming before his eyes.

 

From his new vantage point, Jack could see that his right arm was plastered up to his elbow, and drawn across his torso in a sling. His chest was also bandaged, and so was his right shoulder. He carefully lifted his left hand to his head - his head was wrapped so heavily he must look like he was wearing a turban.

 

“What happened?” He asked the nurse nearest to him.

 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she said briskly. “You need to eat.”

 

Jack tried a couple more times to get information as he was practically force-fed tomato soup, but the effort of sitting up and eating was exhausting, and he’d had barely a quarter of what was in the bowl when he could feel himself drifting off again, and this time he didn’t try to stop it.

 

XXX

 

The next time Jack woke up, it was because he was actually woken up - a nurse, one he hadn’t seen before, woke him up at eight o’clock the following morning, telling him he needed to eat, drink, and be awake for the doctor when he arrived.

 

Jack had enough experience of nurses to know not to argue, and besides he actually _did_ feel a little hungry now, unlike when he’d woken the day before. And he wanted to be alert for seeing the doctor, in the hopes of finding out once and for all just what had landed him in that bed.

 

It hurt to move, but once he was sat up and staying still he was able to ignore the pain in his arm, chest and shoulder. It was his head that was his biggest discomfort - he had a throbbing headache, and it hurt his eyes to focus on something for too long or for a light to be too bright. If he moved his head too quickly he felt dizzy, and once or twice he’d thought he would vomit from it.

 

The doctor arrived soon after Jack had finished eating what he could of the porridge they gave him - though he felt hungry, he found it was difficult to actually eat. It was the same doctor as yesterday, and right behind him was - Jack’s eyebrows shot up - Doctor Macmillan. She was wearing a white lab coat, clearly there in a professional capacity… not that Jack would have been expecting her to visit her in any other capacity, but he knew she didn’t work there, so he was surprised to see her. Perhaps she specialised in head injuries… but even that seemed an unlikely reason for her presence.

 

She smiled brightly at him when he caught her eye, which threw him even more.

 

“Good morning Inspector,” said the other doctor.  

 

“Good morning,” he said.  

 

“Do you remember my name?”

 

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came, and he closed his mouth again, shocked. He _didn’t_. Now that he thought back to the conversation, really thought back to it, the details of what they discussed were evading him - whenever he tried to think of what the actual words that were said, the more the memory slipped away from him.

 

Jack felt a sense of panic rise in his chest, and his head started to spin again, when he felt a hand land on his ankle. The touch snapped him out of his trying to chase the memory, and he looked up to find Doctor Macmillan giving him a concerned look. “Don’t reach too hard for the memory if it’s not there,” she said sternly, withdrawing her hand.

 

Jack swallowed. “It is there, I just -”

 

“The details escape you?” Suggested the other doctor.

 

Jack hesitated. “Yes,” he admitted.

 

The doctor nodded. “That’s not unusual, for a head injury like yours,” he said.

 

The words pulled at Jack. “You… said that,” he said. “Before.”

 

The doctor nodded and smiled. “I did,” he said. “Short term memory is often affected by a traumatic head injury. You remember speaking to me - that’s a good sign. It tells me that you’re still able to process new memories, even if, at the moment, it’s a little jumbled. You remember your name and who you are, so your long-term memory is unaffected.” He paused, and then smiled ruefully. “And my name is Doctor Landry.”

 

“You know who I am, right?” Doctor Macmillan said.

 

Jack started to nod, before realising that that was a bad idea with his head still feeling so tender. “Doctor Macmillan,” he said.

 

She smiled again. “You know I was here for three hours yesterday afternoon? You woke up twenty minutes after I left,” she said. “Typical.”  

 

Jack stared at her - her tone had been friendly, almost… teasing. And she was smiling again. Perhaps it was just her bedside manner, he was a patient after all. She was still looking at him, so he shrugged his left shoulder. “Sorry.”  

 

“I’ll let it slide,” she said dryly. “How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”

 

“My arm,” Jack said. “My shoulder and chest when I move. And my head is pounding, and I keep getting dizzy.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” she said airily. “From what I hear half a roof fell on your head.”

 

 _Finally_. “What happened?”

 

Doctor Macmillan sat down at the foot of the bed. “You’d tracked some drug dealer to an abandoned depot on the docks, and there was a gun fight, and apparently one of the crims tried to escape in a car but ended up crashing it into a wall right next to you, or something like that,” she said matter-of-factly. “The building wasn’t stable, so the crash brought down a section of the roof, landed right on you.”

 

“Your collarbone is broken, your shoulder was dislocated, and your arm is fractured in two places,” said Doctor Landry. “We’ve relocated the shoulder and set your arm - they were fairly clean breaks and you should make a full recovery. You’ve also broken three fingers of your right hand and badly bruised your left - presumably from using your hands to protect your head.”

 

Jack tore his eyes away from the plaster cast on his arm. “And what about my head?”

 

The doctor nodded. “That was a little more complicated,” he said. “The masonry impacted the back of your head and caused swelling and bleeding. We needed to operate to alleviate the pressure on your brain, which meant removing a small piece of your skull.” The shock must have shown on Jack’s face, because the doctor nodded again. “It was drastic, but it worked, and three days later we inserted a metal plate to cover the open area. Once it’s healed over you shouldn’t be able to tell. Not when your hair’s grown back.”

 

Jack chose not to even ask about his hair. Instead his mind turned over what else the doctor had said, and he frowned. “Three days later?” He said, his eyes flicking between the two doctors. “How long was I unconscious?”

 

“You were in a coma for five days, Jack,” said Doctor Macmillan. He looked back at her - she looked serious, and almost… sad, and he noted the use of his first name. He hadn’t realised they were on a first name basis. Not that that really mattered, almost everyone called him Jack, but - there _was_ something odd about her expression. He’d met her twice, and this was most he’d ever spoken to her, but she looked like she was genuinely worried for him.

 

“Well I hope we caught whomever we were after,” he said after a moment, as much to break the silence as anything else.

 

“According to Collins, you did,” Doctor Macmillan said, with another smile.  

 

Jack looked down at his plastered arm again. _Five days in a coma._ No wonder he felt so weak. It was hard to accept that he’d lost all of that time, but his vague memories of struggling to wake certainly fit with the notion of a coma. From what the doctors told him, he was lucky to be alive and as uninjured as he was. Broken bones heal. If a roof really had fallen on top of him as Doctor Macmillan said, he was lucky to have not ended up paralysed, or killed.

 

The memory loss was the most disconcerting part of the whole situation to Jack. He had always had an excellent memory for names and faces, and the fact that he hadn’t remembered Doctor Landry’s name bothered him a great deal. What if his short term memory didn’t recover? What if he didn’t remember this conversation either, and had to keep being told what was going on? How could he possibly do his job if he couldn’t remember details of conversations?

 

To distract himself from such a depressing train of thought, he looked back at Doctor Macmillan. “I didn’t you realise you worked here, Doctor Macmillan,” he said.  

 

She smiled. Actually, it was more of a smirk. “Well yes, thanks to you I don’t see many live patients these days, but I thought I’d make the exception for you,” she said. The smirk widened. “Phryne’s hounding me for updates anyway.”

 

Jack blinked at her, wondering if he’d heard correctly. _Didn’t see live…. thanks to him… Phryne…?_ It sounded nonsensical to Jack, except perhaps that last part. Though even that didn’t really make sense.

 

“Phryne,” he repeated. “You mean… Miss Fisher. Is asking for updates?”

 

Doctor Macmillan gave him a look like he’d said something odd. “Yes.”

Miss Fisher and the doctor were friends, so it would make sense that she’d ask the doctor for information on his condition if she had it, though he couldn’t imagine why she would really need _updates_ … perhaps she was worried that whomever looked after the station in his absence wouldn’t be quite as accommodating as he had been the next time she turned up at a crime scene. Not that he had any intention of being accommodating himself, of course - really, he’d been foolish to allow her as much latitude as he had already, but she _had_ been helpful, in the end. When she wasn’t kidnapping suspects or almost getting herself killed.

 

Doctor Macmillan was still looking at him as if she was waiting for him to say something. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, it’s kind of her to ask after me, but I’m sure she can find some other unsuspecting policeman to harrass while I’m recovering,” he said lightly.  

 

The attempt at levity didn’t go over well with the doctor - she sat back, and gave him a singularly piercing look. There was silence for several long moments before she finally spoke again. “Jack… you said you didn’t think I worked here,” she said seriously. “Where do you think I work?”

 

Jack did _not_ like the way she was looking at him. “The women’s hospital,” he said.

 

Doctor Macmillan was frowning. “I volunteer there from time to time but I’ve worked at the University Hospital for over a year,” she said, “and for the last six months I’ve been the city’s medical examiner.”

 

Jack frowned back at her. _Medical Examiner?_ That wasn’t right - the city’s ME was Doctor Johnson, he’d been on the job for years. Jack had consulted with him just the other day.

 

Doctor Macmillan looked away from Jack and gave Doctor Landry a significant look that filled Jack with a deep sense of foreboding.

 

Doctor Landry turned back to Jack. “Inspector, can you please tell me the date?”

 

Jack hesitated. He had a feeling that his answer was going to take this conversation in a new direction, one he wouldn’t like. “Well from what you’ve told me I’ve lost a few days…”

 

“Just the month is fine,” said Doctor Landry with an encouraging smile. Then he added, “and the year.”

 

Jack swallowed. “June,” he said. “1928.”

 

Another significant look. Jack stayed silent, waiting for confirmation of what he already knew to be true.

 

It was Doctor Landry who finally broke the silence. “Inspector, it’s October 20th, 1929,” he said. Jack looked to Doctor Macmillan for confirmation, but she was looking at the floor, her lips pursed.

 

He looked back at Doctor Landry, who sighed. “It seems that that head injury may have left you with some memory loss after all.”

  



	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a crazy week for me last week, hence a little bit of a delay in getting this chapter out. Also, it's one of *those* chapters where not much happens, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway! Thanks again for the all the comments and kudos :-)

A specialist came to see him later that day, to assess the extent of his memory loss. It was an acutely frustrating and uncomfortable hour for Jack, as the man asked him question after question about not only his work but his childhood, family, private life and even his time in the army. He hadn’t spoken that much about himself in, well - he was fairly sure he  _ never _ had - and by the end of it he felt stripped bare. 

 

As they’d discovered that morning, he could remember nothing of the last seventeen months. Aside from that, it seemed that most of his older memories were intact, though there were some things he was hazy on when he tried to concentrate on them. For instance, he couldn’t remember being promoted to Inspector, even though he knew what month and year it had happened; he couldn’t remember the name of his first Sergeant from when he started out on the force; he couldn’t remember what he did to celebrate his thirtieth birthday; he couldn’t remember who won the Tour de France in 1925… and those were only the things that he was able to identify while talking to the specialist. Who knew what else was missing? 

 

Strangely, it was those missing memories that worried Jack more than knowing he couldn’t remember seventeen whole months. Losing all that time didn’t seem real - it was all just one big blank, so blank that quite frankly Jack wasn’t convinced that it was all some elaborate prank. He felt like he needed some kind of tangible proof that all that time had really passed - but apart from his injuries he seemed the same, Doctor Macmillan looked the same… there was nothing to really make him feel like he’d actually missed out on such a big stretch of time. But the memories he knew he should have and didn’t - that was disconcerting, to say the least. And the fact that he couldn’t even remember names of people he’d met the day before was even worse. 

 

_ How could he do his job if he couldn’t remember? Landry Landry Landry Landry _ . 

 

Jack sat staring at the wall after the specialist left, running over what had happened that day, determined to remember everything. The problem was the more he tried to concentrate on the conversations, the more his head pounded and the more exhausted he felt, and before long he could feel sleep taking him again. 

 

_ How could he do his job?  _

 

Xxx

 

When he woke up again, which judging by the light in the room wasn’t too much later, Doctor Macmillan was standing at the foot of his bed. Jack blinked rapidly, and went to sit up before realising that that way lay pain, and he needed to stay put. 

 

She saw he was awake and gave him a curt nod. “Inspector,” she said. 

 

Jack noted the use of his title again, but didn’t comment on it. “Doctor Macmillan.” 

 

“How’s the head?” 

 

“It hurts. Quite a lot, actually.” 

 

“I’m not surprised, it’s sustained quite a trauma,” she said. “I hear that your memory’s mostly intact, the last year or so notwithstanding.” 

 

Jack sighed. “So I’m told.” 

 

There was a moment’s silence. “You really are very lucky, you know,” she said.

 

Jack nodded, and then winced. “I know,” he said. 

 

Doctor Macmillan nodded as well. There was another pause, and then she cleared her throat. “So,” she said briskly, “what’s my job now?”

 

Jack squinted at her for a moment, before realisation dawned. “You’re testing my memory.” 

 

Doctor Macmillan just raised an eyebrow at him, and Jack sighed again. “You’re the medical examiner.” 

 

She nodded. “Yep,” she said. “And how long were you in a coma?” 

 

“Five days.”

 

“Where were you when you were injured?”

 

“It was a raid in the docks.”

 

“And what’s the name of the doctor who was with me earlier?”

 

“Landry.”

 

She smiled. “Good,” she said. “What’s the name of the specialist who came to speak to you?”

 

“Doctor -” Jack stopped. He couldn’t remember. “Damn it,” he hissed, dropping his head back against the pillow again and then wincing at the sudden movement. He let out a frustrated breath, closed his eyes, and fought to keep himself from letting out a string of swear words. For a moment answering Doctor Macmillan’s questions he’d thought that his short-term memory at least was back to normal, but he  _ couldn’t remember that damn doctor’s name _ . 

 

“It’s alright,” Doctor Macmillan said. 

 

“It’s  _ not _ .” 

 

“Inspector. Jack - look at me.” 

 

Jack reluctantly opened his eyes. Doctor Macmillan had taken a step closer, and fixed him with a serious look. “It’s alright that you don’t remember his name - you will,” she said. “You remember everything we discussed this morning, you remember Landry’s name - this one will come to you too. I’ve seen a lot of head injuries in my time, and you need to believe me when I tell you that your rate of short-term memory recovery is good - extremely good.” She arched an eyebrow at him again and folded her arms. “So stop whining.” 

 

Jack gave her an affronted look. “I’m not  _ whining _ ,” he said petulantly. Then he rolled his eyes eyes when she smirked at his - admittedly whiny - tone. 

 

Jack looked away and swallowed. “If I don’t have my memory, I can’t do my job,” he said quietly. 

 

Doctor Macmillan was silent for a long time, long enough for Jack to get up his courage to look at her again. She was looking at him with what was unmistakably pity, tinged with that same worry and sadness he’d noticed earlier. Her face cleared slightly when he caught her eye, and she shrugged. 

 

“Well, at the moment you can’t even get out of bed,” she pointed out. “You’re not going to be doing any detective work for awhile, no matter what state your memory is in. So I suggest you take it easy, work on fixing those broken bones, and let your head heal at its own pace.” 

 

It wasn’t exactly the most reassuring sentiment he’d ever heard, but Jack could see the truth in what she was saying, and it did make him feel a little better. She was right - he wasn’t going to be able to go back to work for at least a couple of weeks anyway, and he’d only just woken up from being in a coma for five days. He needed to give it time. 

 

He cleared his throat. “You really think that… that my short-term memory is recovering?” He asked. 

 

“Yes,” Doctor Macmillan said firmly. She swept aside her lab coat to look at the pocket watch on her waistcoat. “I have to go - go back to sleep,” she said, walking back towards the door. 

 

“Oh, by the way,” she said, stopping on the threshold. “His name is Doctor Carr. I’ll be back in later to see if you remember that.” 

 

And when she returned after dinner that evening, he did. 

 

Xxx

 

The next morning there was a tentative knock on the door of his room, and Jack looked up to find Constable Collins hovering in the doorway. 

 

He was in uniform, holding his helmet in his hands in front of him, and looked unaccountably nervous. “Inspector?” He said when Jack looked at him. 

 

“Hello Collins,” said Jack, sitting up a little straighter with a small groan. His collarbone was bothering him that day, as well as the constant pounding in his head. He looked up again to find that Collins hadn't moved. “Well, come in constable.”

 

Collins took a hesitant step into the room. “You remember me, sir?”

 

Jack had to work very hard not to roll his eyes. “No, you just look like a Collins to me,” he said drily. 

 

Collins was a good officer but he was one of the greenest young men Jack had ever met, and he often found himself gently ribbing the lad, unable to help himself. Most of the time it went over his head, or he'd give that sheepish smile of his and shake his head at his own folly. Jack liked him well enough- he had the potential to become a good officer, but he needed to lose some of his wide-eyed innocence. 

 

Sure enough, Collins stared at him for a moment before his face lit with understanding, and he smiled ruefully as he walked fully into the room. “Of course, sorry, sir - I,” he stopped next to the bed and looked down at the helmet in his hands before looking back at Jack. “I’m just… very happy to see you awake.”

 

He looked and sounded so very sincere that Jack actually regretted his sarcasm. 

 

“Thank you,” he said. 

 

“How are you feeling, sir?”

 

“About as good as I look, constable.”

 

“Oh,” Collins said glumly. Jack couldn't help a small smirk at the slip, and Collins quickly realised what he'd implied, and started stammering. “Oh, um… well -”

 

Jack took pity on him and cut him off. “How are things at the station?”

 

“Ticking along, sir,” said Collins, looking very grateful for the change of subject. “Russell Street sent Senior Sergeant Blythe over to look after things in your absence.”

 

Jack nodded. Blythe was a good officer who had worked under Jack for several years before transferring. He'd keep an eye on things, though if Jack remembered correctly (and who knew if he was?) he'd probably need some prodding to complete paperwork on time. 

 

“I hear we got our man,” Jack said. 

 

“Yes sir. Keown and his men are in custody.”

 

“Good.” And it was, of course, though at some point someone would need to fill Jack in on how it had taken over two years to apprehend the man in the first place. 

 

“Is there anything you feel I should be caught up on?” He asked Collins. 

 

“Sir?”

 

“Well, you may have heard I’ve lost a little time, Collins,” said Jack, retreating back into the safety of sarcasm. 

 

“Oh, yes sir,” said Collins, looking flustered. “What would you like to know?”

 

_ Bloody everything.  _

 

Jack didn't say that, of course, though he certainly wanted to. It was a stupid question - how could Jack possibly know what he wanted to know when he could remember  _ nothing _ ? But it wasn't Collins’ fault, and to be honest it was probably a stupid request of Jack’s in the first place; how could he expect Collins to fill him in on seventeen months of lost memories in five minutes?

 

Jack cast back to his last memories of Collins to break the silence. 

 

“Did you ever ask Miss Williams to the Fireman and Policeman’s Ball?” He asked. 

 

Collins’ eyes widened, clearly shocked by the turn in the conversation. “Um… well, no actually,” he said. He was smiling as he said it. “I couldn’t get up the nerve. But luckily she asked me instead.” 

 

Jack snorted softly, and Collins’ smile turned sheepish. “We’re married now, actually.” 

It was Jack’s turn to be surprised. “Really?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Jack blinked a couple of times, trying to process the idea of Collins as a married man. It was hard to imagine - he’d been tying himself in knots at the mere thought of asking Miss Williams to the dance. Jack could only imagine how long it had taken him to get up the nerve to actually propose. It was then that Jack noticed the extra stripes on the young man’s arm, denoting a Senior Constable. It was almost as surprising as the fact he was married. 

 

Jack had wanted some kind of evidence that he really had lost all of that time. Here it was. 

“Well,” he said. “Congratulations, Collins.”

 

“Thank you sir,” said Collins. He gave Jack a small smile. “Again.”

 

Jack’s stomach lurched a little at the quip - he knew Collins didn’t mean anything by it, but it wasn’t a pleasant reminder of his memory loss nonetheless.

 

Collins shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Do you think that your memory might - I mean, do the doctors think that -” he stammered.

 

“I’m just concentrating on the broken bones at the moment,” said Jack firmly. 

 

Collins nodded. “Yes sir.” There was a long moment of silence, in which Collins fidgeted some more, before clearing his throat. “I had better be getting back to the station. There’s a lot of paperwork.” 

 

“That I remember,” Jack said. 

 

Collins smiled, nodded, and turned to walk away. He spun around again almost immediately. “Oh! I almost forgot - a letter for you, from the Deputy Commissioner,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to Jack. 

 

“Thank you, Collins.” 

 

“Take care, sir.”

 

Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That had been… well, he wasn’t sure, really. Collins didn’t seem all that different, but clearly a lot had changed in his life. A lot that Jack couldn’t remember. He looked down at the letter in his hands, and wondered what the Deputy Commissioner had to say to him. 

 

He was still on good terms with George, despite everything that had happened with Rosie. 

 

_ Rosie _ . 

 

He’d been resolutely trying not think about her since speaking to that specialist -  _ Doctor Carr  _ \- the day before. His marriage had been a major topic of conversation, and Jack had had an unpleasant realisation after the doctor had left: Rosie hadn’t been to visit him. It wasn’t that it was surprising - they’d been separated for almost a year that Jack could remember, so it was even longer than that in reality - but… well, he’d always hoped that someday, somehow, they’d find some way to reconcile. It was difficult to imagine how, and Jack certainly wasn’t making any overtures to attempt a reconciliation any more than Rosie was, but being faced with the stark reality that a year and a half had passed and they were still separated was difficult to accept. Clearly, he hadn’t been able to repair what they’d had. Perhaps they were actually divorced by now - Jack didn’t know who to ask, nor did he feel comfortable doing so. 

 

He sighed and opened the envelope, which was easier said than done with only his left hand. Eventually he had the letter in hand, and held it up to read it. The pain in his head spiked the moment he focused on the small typed print, but luckily it was short. 

 

_ To Senior Detective Inspector Robinson,  _

 

_ In light of the extent of your injuries the command of City South Station has been temporarily given to Senior Sergeant Blythe of Russell Street. The Chief Commissioner has arranged for you to receive full pay while you recover up to 1st January 1930, at which point we will assess your situation and discuss further arrangements if necessary.  _

 

_ Best wishes for a speedy recovery. _

 

_ Deputy Commissioner Lionel Lyons _

_ Victoria Police Force _

 

Jack closed his eyes and waited for the pain in his head to recede back to the usual pounding he’d grown accustomed to. It was the first time he’d tried to read anything since waking up, and it seemed that his head wasn’t quite ready for the challenge yet. He remembered Doctor Macmillan’s advice from the day before: he had to let his head heal at its own pace. He would just have to avoid reading for the time being. 

 

Jack swallowed hard and concentrated on the contents of the letter instead, and the most pressing question he had after reading it:  _ who the hell was Lionel Lyons _ ? As far as Jack was concerned, George Sanderson was the Deputy Commissioner - he’d never even heard of this Lionel Lyons bloke. Even if George had been promoted to Chief Commissioner, or if he’d retired, Jack would have expected to have at least heard of the new Deputy Commissioner. 

 

Well, he would find out in due time. And it was good news that he was being given until the new year to recover, and at full pay no less. It surprised him, to be honest - he wouldn’t have expected to have been looked after so well, but it was gratifying nonetheless. 

 

He said as much to Doctor Macmillan when she stopped by after lunch to test his memory again. 

 

“Well I’m not surprised, you’re valuable to them,” she said breezily, once she’d read the letter. “Wouldn’t be surprised if they tried offering you another promotion again before long.”

 

Jack wasn’t sure what to respond to first - the vote of confidence in his abilities, or that Doctor Macmillan seemed to know that he’d turned down a promotion in the past. Luckily, the doctor kept talking so he didn’t need to. 

 

“Can’t believe they’ve put Blythe in your place though, can’t stand working with him.”

 

“He’s a good officer,” Jack said.

 

“He smiles too much,” said Doctor Macmillan dismissively. “Annoying at the best of times, downright indecent in a morgue.”

 

Jack felt his lips twitch into a smile in spite of himself. He actually quite enjoyed the doctor’s visits - he liked having proof that his short-term memory was really improving, and he much preferred her frankness to the platitudes and vagueness of his actual physicians. It just made him sorry that he couldn’t remember working with her on cases. 

 

“Do you know what happened to Deputy Commissioner Sanderson?” He asked her. “Was he promoted?” If George was the Chief Commissioner now, it might explain the generosity of the convalescence pay. 

 

“Ah,” she said, not quite meeting his eye. “That’s - well, it’s a long story.” 

 

“What happened to him? Is he alright?” 

 

Doctor Macmillan shook her head. “I can’t get into this right now,” she said. “I’m sorry Jack but it really is a long story. I’ll come back later, alright?”

 

And she swept out of the room, leaving Jack’s head spinning even more than it already had been. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter got long - eek!

It had been a week since he’d woken up, and Jack was thoroughly sick of staring at the same four walls. He tried not to take it out on his doctors or his nurses, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the frustration out of his voice whenever anyone asked him how he was feeling. 

 

Because the answer was  _ caged _ . 

 

No matter how many times he repeated Doctor Macmillan’s words to himself about healing at his own pace, and no matter how much he truly believed in the wisdom of those words, the fact remained that he tired of being in pain, tired of having to stay in bed, tired of being alone most of the time, and tired of having  _ nothing to do _ . 

 

That was the biggest problem, really - he was so bored it beggared belief. If he’d been able to read it would be bearable, but even now, days after he’d first tried, focusing on written words made his head spike with pain. Apparently this wasn’t at all unusual for a severe head injury, and he shouldn’t worry about it. 

 

He didn’t worry about it: he  _ resented  _ it. 

 

He had started trying to get out of bed a couple of times a day. He’d done it the first time three days before, when Collins was there to steady him, and it was a good thing he  _ had  _ been there because the moment Jack stood up he’d been hit with a wave of vertigo so strong that Collins had had to catch him before he toppled face-first to the floor. Collins had clearly told Doctor Macmillan what had happened as he’d left, because ten minutes later she’d stormed in to give him a stern lecture on not making his condition worse by trying to rush his recovery. However, the next day she herself helped him try to stand up, so he at least knew she understood that he just had to feel he was making  _ some  _ progress. 

 

And he was - he could stand now, with someone at his elbow and with a lot of pausing, and he’d been able to shuffle to the end of the bed and back. It made Jack feel like he had aged fifty years. It didn’t matter that it was technically progress - it wasn’t fast enough. It had been a whole week, and he could only take a few hesitant steps before having to lie back down with a spinning, aching head, a feeling of nausea and an overwhelming need to sleep. 

 

It was ridiculous. 

 

His doctors didn’t seem to think so, and he knew he should feel heartened by their optimism, but it was hard to feel anything but frustration. His legs were fine but he couldn’t keep his balance. He was alert but couldn’t read without feeling ill. He couldn’t stay awake for more than two hours straight. 

 

He was - pardon the pun - sick of it. 

 

His frustration was compounded by a conversation he had had with the specialist, Doctor Carr, on day five of his  _ incarceration _ . 

 

“You’re making excellent progress, Jack.” 

 

Jack had pulled a face, which made Doctor Carr smile. “Your short term memory is back up to speed, and you’re starting to reclaim some of your older memories too,” he’d said.

 

This was true - Jack had woken up that morning with a clear memory of the Assistant Commissioner calling him to a meeting at his office to discuss his promotion to Detective Inspector, as though the entire incident hadn’t been a complete blank for four days. 

 

There was nothing else though. 

 

“I remembered one thing,” said Jack. 

 

“That’s more than a lot of people with memory loss,” said Doctor Carr. “Besides, you’re still in hospital, you have a far greater chance of recovering your memories once you’re home.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yes, time and again we’ve seen that familiar surroundings, and getting into a familiar routine, helps to trigger memory recovery.”

 

“So I need to go home before I remember anything.” 

 

“I didn’t say that. But yes, leaving the hospital will help.”

 

“But they said I can’t leave yet.” 

 

“No. You’ll have to be patient.” 

 

_ Patient.  _

 

Jack had always considered himself a patient man, but this was severely testing his limits. He was unlikely to get any of his memories back until he was in familiar surroundings, but he couldn’t leave the hospital until he had recovered more physically. 

 

Which meant that all Jack could do was lie on that hospital bed and do precisely nothing. 

 

He did at least have regular visitors. Doctor Carr came every other day to assess his head injury and his memory and Doctor Landry was there every morning and sometimes in the evening. Of course, both of them were required to visit him, being his physicians, but since visits and sleep were the only things Jack had to break up the monotony of his day, he was counting them.

 

Doctor Macmillan visited at least twice a day and she certainly had no professional obligation to so do, and she was usually ready with some kind of frank assessment of his progress that usually helped to make him feel better despite himself. 

 

And every morning without fail since the first time he'd come, Collins appeared like clockwork. Jack had been surprised enough to see him that first day- when he'd walked in the following morning he’d thought something terrible had happened at the station. But no, Collins was just ‘popping in’. He stayed for ten minutes, and then headed to work. 

 

And the next day, he did the same thing. 

 

It was puzzling, really. None of his other constables had been to visit - nor would he expect them to - but for some reason Collins felt it necessary to visit every morning. It was with Collins that Jack truly felt the missing months - not only the obvious changes of his marriage and promotion, but also that there must be something to explain why Collins felt the need to visit so often. 

 

Thinking like that made Jack feel ungrateful, but he was a detective, and he couldn't help musing on mysteries. And Collins was his biggest mystery - well, aside from the fact that apparently his father-in-law was in prison for abetting a slavery ring.  _ Former  _ father-in-law - Doctor Macmillan had answered his unspoken question about the state of his marriage while telling him an abridged version of why George Sanderson wasn’t the Deputy Commissioner anymore. 

 

Well, at least he knew. 

 

Jack refused to dwell on Rosie and her father though, and always turned his thoughts deliberately back to Collins - his constable was a far easier topic to ponder.

 

That morning, though, a week after waking up, another visitor arrived to provide Jack with an entirely new line of enquiry. 

 

“Hello?”

 

Jack looked back up, and saw Dorothy Williams lurking in the doorway. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

 

“Miss Williams!” He said, before realising his error and correcting himself. “Or, Mrs Collins, I hear.”

 

Miss Williams -  _ Mrs Collins  _ \- smiled at that and walked over to the foot of the bed, sweeping her eyes over his injuries in a way that Jack had become all too accustomed to: Collins did the same thing every day. Jack himself gave her a once over too - in general, she looked as he remembered her, perhaps a little more stylishly dressed than he'd have expected. Her dress was on the conservative side in design, but in a pretty pink colour, and she wore a matching hat with an enamel flower pin. More than her clothing, though, it was the way she held herself that made all the difference - her shoulders were back, her chin was up, and when he looked at her she met his eyes with confidence. 

 

“It's good to see you,” she said earnestly. 

 

Jack just nodded. He didn't generally have much contact with the families of his constables, so he wasn't really sure what to say. He just put it mentally away in his ‘Collins Mystery’ case file and waited for Mrs Collins to say something. 

 

She cleared her throat. “I- well, I brought you some food,” she said, holding up a basket Jack hadn't noticed she was holding. “I thought you might like something other than hospital grub.”

 

Jack blinked at her, stunned into silence for a moment. “That's very kind, thank you,” he said once he'd found his voice. Mrs Collins smiled again and walked round the bed to his left side, resting the basket on the bed next to him. Something smelt absolutely  _ heavenly _ . 

 

“You didn't have to go to this trouble,” he said truthfully. It was yet another level of… something… that Jack needed to compute. He wondered if Collins had suggested the gesture to his wife…. but why wouldn't he just bring the basket himself? He'd stood in that very spot not three hours earlier, and would no doubt be back again the next morning. 

 

“It's no trouble at all,” Mrs Williams was saying. “Actually, Mr Butler made a lot of the food, he's been fretting about how much you're eating.”

 

Jack frowned. “Mr Butler…?”

 

“Oh!” Mrs Williams said, going slightly pink and giving him a slightly pitying look which immediately had him realising this was something he should know. “Um, he's Miss Fisher’s butler.”

 

Jack’s mind flashed on a older man opening the door to Miss Fisher’s house and showing him in when he’d visited during the train case, and the evening after. Now that he thought about it, he’d heard the name said a couple of times, though they’d not been introduced.

 

And now the man was sending him food, and apparently worrying over his eating habits.

 

Mrs Collins still had that slightly pitying look on her face, and Jack retreated into humour. 

 

“Miss Fisher has a butler named Butler?” He said drily. 

 

It worked - Mrs Collins chuckled. “Yes.”

 

“Well, please tell him thank you,” Jack said.

 

Mrs Collins nodded. “I will,” she said. “He sends his regards, he was very relieved to hear you're awake.” She swallowed. “So was I. You gave us all quite a scare,” she said seriously. 

 

Jack once again found himself unsure what to say. He wouldn't have expected to have had any contact with Miss Williams -  _ Mrs Collins  _ \- beyond seeing her at the station sometimes if she visited her husband, but the look she was giving him really made him feel she'd been genuinely worried for him. Why would she care so much about her husband’s boss? And what did she mean by  _ all _ ? Once again, Jack was left feeling that he was missing some big piece of the puzzle, but asking someone that, from his perspective, he barely knew to explain his life to him didn’t seem feasible. 

 

He needed to say  _ something _ , though, so he decided that small talk was his best bet. “Well, how is married life?” 

 

Mrs Collins smiled. “Very good, thank you,” she said.

 

“Collins didn't mention how long you've been married?”

 

“Oh, only a month.”

 

Jack nodded. To be honest the time frame fit rather well with his private opinion on how long it must have taken Collins to propose.

 

“Are you continuing in Miss Fisher’s service or staying at home?” He asked, assuming that since she’d mentioned her butler, she was still working for Miss Fisher.

 

“I'm hoping to continue on in some way,” Mrs Collins said. “We didn't get much of a chance to discuss the particulars before she left for England.”

 

“She's gone back to England?” Jack said, feeling rather more surprised by this news than he felt he should - while she’d only just arrived from England from his perspective, she had family there, so why wouldn’t she go back? Melbourne must seem incredibly dull compared to London, especially to a lady like Miss Fisher. He remembered what Doctor Macmillan had said to him when he’d just woken up, that Miss Fisher had been asking for updates on his condition; he hadn’t given it any thought since that day, but now that he did - and knowing what he did about Miss Fisher’s forthright approach to information-gathering - he should have concluded she was out of town, otherwise if she’d wanted to know how he fared she would have had no qualms in coming to find out in person. 

 

Of course he still had no idea why she’d want to know, but that was another matter.

 

Mrs Collins was nodding. “Yes, the day after the wedding,” she said. “Her father needed to get back home quickly, so she decided to fly him back.” 

 

Jack paused. “When you say  _ fly _ -”

 

“She owns a small two-seater plane, she pilots it herself.” 

 

Jack supposed he should be shocked by the idea of Miss Fisher flying a plane all the way to England, but he found that it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. It was just the sort of headstrong, reckless thing he’d expect of her.

 

“Well, that’s quite a journey,” he said. 

 

“Yes,” said Mrs Collins. “She's on her way back now.”

 

_ That  _ was a surprise. “Already?” He said. “It's a long way to go for such a short trip.” If she’d left the day after the Collins’ wedding, a month before, she couldn’t have stayed any longer than a few days in England.

 

“I think she did intend to stay until the new year, but with what’s happened to you- um, with what’s happened…” Mrs Collins’ voice trailed off and she started to blush. Jack stared at her, and she looked away for a moment. “She's coming back,” she finished quietly. 

 

There was a long silence. Jack wanted to do the polite thing and break it, wanted to change the subject, but he was reeling from what Mrs Collins had just said and couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her implication. 

 

_ Miss Fisher was -  _

 

Mrs Collins cleared her throat awkwardly. “I had better be going,” she said. She tucked the basket safely against Jack’s side and stepped back. She was still blushing. 

 

Jack cleared his throat as well. “Thank you for the basket,” he managed. 

 

“You're welcome.” Mrs Collins managed a small smile. “Take care.” 

“Goodbye.”

 

And with that, Mrs Collins left the room as quickly as she could without running, and Jack was left alone to ponder what he’d just learned. 

 

_ Miss Fisher was travelling back to Australia from England because he’d been injured.  _

 

He really  _ hadn’t _ given Miss Fisher any thought since Doctor Macmillan’s mention of her that first day, but if she had truly changed her plans to stay in England and was instead flying halfway around the world to see him, it seemed that that was a gross oversight on his part.

 

Jack felt lost. This wasn't like the little things niggling him about Collins, this was a mystery that he didn't know how to even start unravelling. He decided to start at the beginning, and thought back to what he remembered of Miss Fisher, to what he  _ knew.  _

 

She was rich, the daughter of a… Baron?… recently arrived from London where she'd lived for some unknown amount of time. Originally from Melbourne. He didn't know anything about her childhood, but Prudence Stanley was her aunt, which gave him an indication of her upbringing. She was always impeccably dressed. She had the easy confidence that came from being wealthy and used to getting her own way. She seemed to view the world as her own personal playground, and if she found something interesting or entertaining she would participate, whether or not it was appropriate or even legal for her to be involved. She refused to take no for an answer and had no qualms about inflating her importance or throwing his name around to worm her way onto crime scenes. She was good at convincing people to trust her. She didn't seem to care a jot about one’s personal space, and she knew how to use her looks to her advantage. She drove far too fast. She was foolhardy, she was reckless, and because she was rich she got away with it. 

 

But she was also smart, and observant, and as much as it pained Jack to admit it, she had actually been an enormous help in solving both the murders that she’d involved herself with. Her methods left a lot to be desired, but there was no denying that she had an impressive investigative mind. And while she was rich and titled, she didn't act much like a proper lady. It wasn't just the way she threw herself into murder investigations - she had taken Mrs Collins into her service and the once meek maid had flourished; she had won the trust of that girl on the train, Miss Ross, and had elected to keep her in her house rather than see her turned over to welfare; she had even,  _ somehow _ gained the respect of the red-raggers. She was… kind. And she was funny - exasperated as he was by her, Jack hadn't been able to stop himself smiling at some of her observations. Surrounded as he was by dull or sycophantic subordinates all day, it had been a long time since Jack had really  _ enjoyed  _ conversing with someone. 

 

Then he remembered the last time he'd seen her - or, well, the last time he remembered anyway. He'd gone to her house to tell her that everything was squared away with welfare regarding Miss Ross, and he'd been invited into her parlour and to have a drink. He'd told her to call him Jack. She'd said to call her Phryne. It had been the first time they'd talked about anything other than crime, and it had been surprisingly easy. 

 

He wondered when he'd seen her next. Given previous experience, he assumed that a dead body had probably been involved. 

 

Jack’s head was spinning with unanswered questions, and starting to ache, so he turned his attention to the basket Mrs Williams had brought him. He maneuvered the basket closer, and moved aside the gingham cloth on top. On top was a plate of sandwiches, cut into triangles. Underneath was a stoppered bottle hand-labelled ‘elderflower cordial’, a small ceramic dish filled with what looked like a baked gratin, and at least a dozen Anzac biscuits. There was also a knife and fork, wrapped in a napkin. 

 

Jack tried one of the sandwiches, and had to suppress a groan of pleasure. He'd always been fond of ham and cheese sandwiches in particular, and these were made with some kind of pickle which just about made it one of the best things Jack had ever tasted.  _ A sandwich.  _

 

The gratin was delicious as well. Jack closed his eyes to better enjoy the taste, and all of a sudden he saw his office, he saw his desk, and sitting on his desk he saw… Jack’s eyes flew open, and the - whatever it was - faded. It had been so… not real, it hadn’t felt  _ real _ , not like he was there or anything it was more like a…  _ a memory.  _

 

Jack closed his eyes again, but he didn’t see anything. When he tried to concentrate on that image of his office, he knew he was just remembering his office in general; that had felt like a specific moment. He’d been eating, and someone had been sitting on his desk. Who on earth would  _ sit on his desk _ ? 

 

It was ridiculous, some kind of garbled nonsense provided by his damaged head. It wasn’t a memory, it was just… nothing. 

 

Jack sighed and ate the rest of the gratin - it was delicious, and his appetite, which had retreated over the past week in the face of the terrible food the hospital provided, reared its head, and he ate the entire pan’s worth without stopping. He then polished off the sandwiches, and added some of the elderflower cordial to the glass of water on his bedside table. 

 

Finally he tried one of the biscuits, and almost choked in surprise as he bit into one. They were  _ his biscuits _ . He’d spent rather a long time perfecting his Anzac biscuit recipe, and since he made a batch most weekends to replenish his office tin he could taste the difference between his own biscuits and other recipes a mile off. But these were freshly baked, and made by Miss Fisher’s butler. It didn’t take a detective to come to the only logical conclusion - at some point, he had shared his recipe with this Mr Butler. 

 

Well… alright. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t really that noteworthy - it wasn’t as though it was secret family recipe that had been passed on to him by his grandmother on her deathbed or any such nonsense, it was just a recipe he’d played with until he felt was right. What was surprising was that he’d got to know the man well enough to offer him the recipe in the first place, or that he knew to ask for it. 

 

And he’d known to put them in this basket. He’d known that Jack’s favourite sandwiches were ham and cheese, and he’d liked the gratin enough to think that perhaps it had also been put in because it was known to be a favourite too. Jack tried the cordial - it was, unsurprisingly, also delicious. 

 

Jack swallowed.  _ How often did he eat at Miss Fisher’s house _ ? 

 

Once again, Jack tried to make some sense of what he’d learned in the last half an hour. 

 

_ Miss Fisher had apparently cut short a trip to England because she’d heard that Jack was injured.  _ Quite honestly, Jack found this very hard to believe. Why on earth would she travel halfway around the world because he’d been hurt? He wasn’t even that badly injured apart from the memory loss - it wasn’t life-threatening or anything. 

 

Of course, he  _ had  _ been in a coma, so it had been life-threatening. Still, that wasn’t enough for someone he barely knew to travel such a long way… which meant, of course, that they must by now know each other much better. Jack couldn’t help but wonder  _ how  _ much better - it was rather extraordinary to contemplate, but, well… one didn’t just change plans like that in order to see a casual acquaintance, or even a friend. Jack swallowed. Were they lovers? It was hard to imagine - not, well, it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed she was attractive, so it wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine actually being with her, and he was officially…  _ divorced…  _ but they were such different people. She was nothing like any of the other women he’d ever been with,  _ nothing  _ like Rosie… There had definitely been something going on between her and that dancer who was with her in that steam room, and she’d also been flirting with that law student… in fact she seemed to flirt with everyone, and was clearly not averse to following through on her flirtations. Which was fine, Jack wasn’t one to judge, but he wasn’t like that, and he didn’t think he could ever be with someone like that. 

 

No, they couldn’t be lovers. The only explanation was that Mrs Collins must have been mistaken - Miss Fisher must have another reason for travelling back so quickly. And Collins would have suggested the sandwiches and biscuits to Mr Butler; the constable had seen him eat lunch often enough to have noticed that he favoured ham and cheese sandwiches. Maybe he’d given the biscuit recipe to Collins, now that he had a wife. 

 

There was sure to be an explanation for everything. 

 

XXX

 

Jack slept fitfully for most of the afternoon, but was awake and brooding as evening approached, and the time Doctor Macmillan usually visited drew nearer. A nurse had moved the basket onto his bedside table - looking torn between gladness that his appetite was back and disgust at how much he’d eaten - but he sat and stared at it, as if the wicker would yield up answers. 

 

He was going to have to ask Doctor Macmillan about Miss Fisher - there was nothing else for it. He was reeling with confusion and curiosity, theories and conjectures, and he needed some clarification… and luckily, the doctor was Miss Fisher’s good friend. She had to know something. 

 

Jack hear her familiar footsteps approaching the door to his room at just gone five, and sure enough she breezed in a moment later, in her usual suit and lab coat but looking a little frazzled. 

 

“Well, that was fun,” she said. “Autopsy on a man who weighed thirty stone - needed three assistants to help.” 

 

“What did he die of?” Jack asked. 

 

“Weighing thirty stone.” 

 

She spotted the basket on the side table and made a beeline for it. “What’s in the basket?” She asked. Jack said nothing, and just watched as she lifted the cloth and looked inside. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Did Dot bring this?”

 

Jack didn’t ask how she’d known that. “Yes, she came this morning.”

 

Doctor Macmillan nodded and helped herself to one of the biscuits. 

 

Jack cleared his throat. “She mentioned that Miss Fisher’s gone to England,” he said casually. Of course, _ trying  _ to say something casually almost never works, and the look the doctor gave him clearly indicated that she didn’t find anything casual about his tone.

 

“Yep,” she said around a mouthful of biscuit. 

 

“Then she said that she’s on her way back, even though she’s just got there,” he ploughed on. “And she said it was because she’d heard that I was injured.”

 

Doctor Macmillan swallowed down the biscuit. “Ah. No wonder you look so brooding.”

 

Jack ignored that, and looked at her intently. “Is it true?”

 

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. Jack blinked in surprise - he’d been expecting her to deny it, mostly because he still couldn’t see how that could be the case. She finished the rest of the biscuit in one bite and shrugged at him as she chewed. “I suppose you’re trying to work out why she would do that.”

 

Jack glared at her. There was no need for her to sound so damn blasé. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me.”

 

Doctor Macmillan brushed some biscuit crumbs off of her coat. “Jack, I am Phryne’s oldest and closest friend, and even I can’t work out why she does a lot of the things she does,” she said. 

 

Jack’s glare deepened, but before he could retort she sighed and gave him a rueful look. She put her hands into her waistcoat pockets and rocked on her heels. “But I think in this case it’s because you’re probably her closest friend after me, and she hates to be idle when her friends are in trouble,” she said. 

 

Jack stared at her. 

 

Doctor Macmillan smiled a little and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You have questions?” 

 

“Of course I have questions,” Jack burst out, so forcefully he felt a complaining twinge from his collarbone. He winced, and then shot the doctor a sullen glare when she gave him an unimpressed look. He took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts in order. “As far I remember, Miss Fisher is a lady who’s interfered her way onto two of my murder investigations - and now you’re telling me that we’re… friends.”

 

“Is that so hard to believe?” The doctor asked. She shrugged again. “Phryne’s very charming.”

 

“So is a con artist.”

 

Doctor Macmillan chuckled. “This is  _ very _ entertaining,” she said. “I wasn't really involved in a lot of your earliest cases with Phryne. I didn't realise how much she annoyed you.”

 

Jack paused for a moment. Perhaps  _ annoyance  _ was the wrong emotion - well, her belief that she was entitled to be present at his crime scenes was annoying, but he didn't really have anything against her as a person. “She doesn't annoy me,” he said begrudgingly. “Not personally, anyway. Professionally....”

 

“Well that sounds like basis for a friendship to me,” said the doctor cheerily. Jack rolled his eyes, but she just smiled. “I ask you again - is it so hard to believe?”

 

Jack looked away, his mind racing. The answer, rather surprisingly, was  _ no _ , and it was a difficult concept for him to wrap his mind round. He felt wrong-footed, and he hated that feeling. 

 

Doctor Macmillan was giving him an annoyingly knowing look, so he did his best to keep his face blank. “I suppose being friends with me does make me less likely to arrest her for interference,” he quipped. 

 

“Oh you've definitely arrested her before,” the doctor said airily. “More than once.” 

 

“Good.” He managed a half-smile, and cast around for a change of subject, but the doctor wasn’t to be sidetracked by his joke. 

 

“The thing to know about Phryne is that there's nothing she wouldn't do for her friends,” she said earnestly. “If she decides that you're one of her people, you just are. You don't get a say in the matter. So yes, she changed her plans when I wired her that you were injured.”

 

Jack had no idea what to say to that, so he just nodded. Doctor Macmillan nodded as well, and then stood up. “That said, knowing her I doubt she was sorry for an excuse to leave her parents behind her as soon as possible,” she added, before helping herself to another biscuit. 

 

“Those are mine, you know,” Jack said. 

 

“You want one?” She replied with her mouth full.

 

“I’m trying to save them.” 

 

The doctor rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Dot will be back with more in no time.” 

 

XXX

 

This turned out to be true. Mrs Williams was indeed back two days later with another basket, and again two days after that. Jack decided not to bring up Miss Fisher with her - she had seemed very embarrassed that first day when she'd let slip about her change in travel plans, and Jack didn't want to repay her kindness by putting her on the spot. 

 

He had no such hesitation regarding Doctor Macmillan or Constable Collins. 

 

The doctor deflected his further questions with ease, telling him that “if you want to know more about your relationship with Phryne you can ask her when she gets here. If it's urgent write down the questions and I'll wire her”. Since Jack wouldn't put it past her to do just that, and since that sounded mortifying, Jack stopped asking Doctor Macmillan questions about Miss Fisher. 

 

Constable Collins, on the other hand, was a trove of information. 

 

From what the young man told him, Jack worked out that Miss Fisher had an uncanny knack of being in situ when murders were committed, and there had only been a handful that Jack had investigated without her ‘help’ over the last year and a half. He learned that she was no less reckless these days, as if her flying herself around the world wasn't enough of a clue to that: apparently she never missed a chance to go undercover, regardless of her own personal safety, and had no qualms about attempting to apprehend criminals twice her size. From what Collins said, Jack gleaned that he'd long ago accepted that Miss Fisher would be a fixture of murder investigations, and had even sought her help at times. He also learned that Collins had spent a lot of time at her house while courting his wife, and it seemed Jack was a regular feature as well, given how freely he mentioned parties they both attended. 

 

All in all, he had to conclude that Doctor Macmillan’s assessment of the situation was correct: he and Miss Fisher were friends, and it was yet another thing he'd forgotten. 

 

Jack had, until then, been mostly annoyed about his memory loss, as well as worrying about what it could mean to his future, and it had irked him that he was in the dark about certain details of his own life. But now, thinking about Miss Fisher, he was… regretful. 

 

Jack didn't make friends easily, not recently anyway. He spent too much time at work, or trying to take his mind off how his life had unfolded since the war, but it seemed he'd broken that pattern. And not just with Miss Fisher - it had taken him a while, but he was astute enough to realise now that Constable Collins wasn't visiting everyday out of duty; he was genuinely invested in Jack’s recovery. The same went for Doctor Macmillan, and for Mrs Collins, and even for Mr Butler - Jack had a whole group of friends, it seemed, and he couldn't really remember it at all. 

 

He spent the rest of the week eating Mr Butler’s food, continually testing his ability to walk (he could make it to the water closet across the hall, but it exhausted him), failing to read, and brooding over his lost memories. Then, one afternoon, he heard a determined step in the hallway outside, and his door opened. 

 

Miss Phryne Fisher stood in the doorway, her hand on the door handle, frozen as she took in the sight of him. Jack had now seen himself in a mirror and knew just how much of a fright he looked, so he didn't blame her - he was haggard, swathed in bandages and hadn’t shaved in three weeks. She, of course, looked immaculate. She wore smart black trousers, a dark blue blouse with black bearing down the front, a silk scarf and, despite the sun blazing through the windows, a heavy, dove grey overcoat. Jack noticed a pair of kid gloves sticking out of one of the pockets, and he realised that she had to have come straight from the airfield. 

 

He took a deep breath. 

 

Finally, her eyes met his. 

 

“Hello Jack.”

 

He smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Fisher.”

  
  



	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding time to write this chapter was pretty challenging, so I'm sorry for the delay. It was originally intended to be a lot longer, but luckily I rethought it and realised I was trying to squeeze too much in...

There was a car waiting on the airfield, parked in almost exactly the same place as when Phryne had taken off for England six weeks before. But this car didn't belong to Jack, and there were two figures standing by it, not one.

Phryne brought the plane in for a landing that wasn't the smoothest she'd ever had, but considering the state of her plane after two such long journeys in quick succession it was as good as could be expected. She certainly wouldn't be able to fly off anywhere else in a hurry, but that wasn't a problem as she was - finally - back exactly where she needed to be.

A technician from the hangar met her at the plane as she climbed down from the cockpit. She quickly confirmed arrangements with him before starting towards the car. Cec and Bert met her halfway, looking just the same as the day she'd left.

“G’day Miss Fisher,” said Bert.

“Welcome home, Miss,” said Cec.

Phryne gave them one of her trademark bright smiles. “Hello gents - thank you for meeting me.”

“Pleasure Miss,” said Bert.

“I’ll get the bags,” said Cec, stepping past Phryne towards the plane, where the technician had taken her luggage down from the hold.

“Mr Butler’s cooking up a storm and Dottie’s really excited to see you,” Bert told her.

Phryne nodded, still smiling. “I’m excited to see her too,” she said truthfully.

Bert just nodded, and something in his face told Phryne that he didn't really believe the brightness of her smile. She let it drop - there was no need to pretend with him and Cec.

Cec proved this when he got back to them with her bags. “You want to go straight to the hospital, miss?” He asked as he handed one of the bags off to Bert.

Phryne let out a breath and gave them both a smaller, more genuine smile. “Please,” she said. They started towards the cab, and had only made it halfway there before Phryne had to ask.

“Have you seen him?”

“No,” said Cec, “but Dot has, she says he’s doing well.”

“Yeah, a bit busted up but he’s been awake for awhile,” added Bert.

“So I hear,” said Phryne.

The news that Jack had woken up from his coma had reached her via telegram when she was a week into her journey, and she had near collapsed with relief. Mac’s simple words had been everything she'd been longing to hear for that entire time:

JR AWAKE STOP RECOVERING WELL STOP

She had, of course, still continued on her way as quickly as possible, buoyed by the news that Jack would be awake to greet her when she arrived. She had to shorten her hops to accommodate the wear and tear on the plane, and it took her three days longer to get back, a fact that had infuriated her no end.

Jack needed her, and she wasn't there.

She knew from her constant hounding of Mac via telegram that he was still in hospital. According to her friend he had broken several bones and was still recovering his strength from being in the coma. Phryne was sure that he must be going stir crazy, cooped up in bed all day being fussed over by doctors and nurses.

She resolutely tramped down the surge of worry she felt whenever she thought about the fact that Jack was still in hospital despite waking up two weeks before - she didn't know anything about how long it took to recover after a coma, and she was sure it wasn't something that one just walked away from immediately… but still, she couldn't help but feel that it didn't bode well. Surely he could rest at home? If he was still in hospital it was because he needed to be, and that was… well, she needed to see him and find out for herself. There was no use worrying about it. So she didn't.

Most of the time.

The drive was agonisingly slow - they seemed to have to stop at every junction and crossing, and there was even a horse and cart at one point, but they reached the hospital eventually and Phryne was out of the cab before it had fully stopped. She bid farewell to the boys as best she could, but she found that her heart had jumped up to her throat the moment she'd caught sight of the hospital, so she couldn't say much.

They didn't seem to mind, and just said they'd wait for her out front. Phryne hurried up the front steps, shaking her head at her own nervousness.

He was fine. _Recovering well_ , Mac had said. And she would be by his side within minutes.

She’d felt the distance like an ache ever since she’d heard that Jack was injured. Though she knew that events would have played out the same even had she still been in Melbourne, she still felt like she should have been there, and it made her feel sick to think of Jack lying unconscious on a hospital bed, with her on the other side of the world.

Phryne knew that it was foolish, she knew there was nothing she could do for him even if she was there, but being so far away had just felt plain wrong… which of course was alarming in itself. She’d had a lot of time to reflect on her feelings for Jack since leaving England - indeed, it felt like she’d done nothing else as she’d made her way back to him - and she’d reached an inescapable conclusion. She was a detective, after all, she knew how to read clues: and all the evidence pointed to her… well, being in love.

She was in love with Jack.

It was at the same time unexpected and wholly unsurprising, and Phryne was terrified. But, and this was the most surprising thing of all, she wasn’t terrified of the feeling - she was terrified that she would never get the chance to tell Jack.

The foyer was crowded; doctors, nurses, orderlies, patients and public mingling, all talking over each other to be heard. There were corridors leading off on either side of the space, and a sweeping staircase in front of her. There was a strong smell of antiseptic in the air.

Phryne had hated the smell of antiseptic since the war.

Phryne was just about to join the small crowd in front of the information desk when she heard her name being called.

“Phryne!”

Phryne spun around to find Mac striding towards her from down one of the corridors, lab coat flaring behind her.

“Mac!”

Phryne weaved her way through the people between her and her friend, and threw her arms around her shoulders. Mac held her tight, and Phryne tried not to think about the last time Mac had met her after arriving from England - the feelings had been somewhat different.

“I've been looking out for you,” Mac said as they pulled apart. She gave Phryne a small smile. “I knew you’d come straight here.”

Phryne returned the smile and then stepped back. “Where is he?” She asked.

“Upstairs.” Phryne started to turn towards the stairs, but Mac put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Come with me a minute.”

She threaded her arm through Phryne’s and led her down the corridor, away from the stairs. They didn’t go too far - around a corner and to a door bearing a plaque with Mac’s name on it: her office. Phryne felt a leaden sense of dread forming in her stomach, and she tried her best to ignore it as Mac opened the door and stood aside to let her in.

“What’s going on?” Phryne asked as soon as the door was shut. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s some things you need to know before you see him,” Mac said, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk; Phryne sank down onto it, and Mac leant back against the desk, looking at her steadily.

Phryne knew that look on her face - she had bad news. The feeling of dread increased.

“What is it?” She said.  
  
Mac took a breath. “Honestly, he’s doing really well,” she said. “He has a couple of broken bones that are healing up nicely and he’s getting back up to strength after the coma. If it wasn’t for the head injury we’d have sent him home by now.”

Phryne swallowed. “Mac.”  
  
Mac sighed. “He has some memory loss,” she said. Phryne frowned, and Mac continued. “It’s not surprising, with this kind of injury, and it could be a lot worse than it is. His short-term memory is completely recovered, there’s no evidence of cognitive dysfunction other than the memory loss, which is localised.”  
  
Phryne stared at her. “What do you mean… localised?”  
  
“He can’t remember anything of the last seventeen months,” Mac said quietly. “Nothing beyond April of last year.”

Phryne blinked. Of all the possibilities she’d considered, memory loss hadn’t been one of them. “Nothing?”

Mac shook her head. “Nothing at all,” she said.   
  
Phryne’s mind was reeling. April of last year was… that was when she had met him. Their first case had been near the beginning of the month. She took a deep breath. “Does he remember... me?” She said, dreading the answer.

“Yes,” said Mac. Phryne let out the breath shakily, an almost overwhelming sense of relief crashing over her. _He remembered her_. She wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he’d forgotten her.

“But the last case he remembers is that business with the train. When you took in Jane,” Mac was saying.  
  
Phryne nodded distractedly. “But he remembers me,” she said.

Mac gave her a soft smile. “Yes love.”  
  
“I need to see him,” Phryne said, jumping to her feet. Honestly, she couldn’t wait another moment. She appreciated Mac warning her about Jack’s condition before she saw him, but she was warned now.   
  
Mac eyed her in silence for a moment before nodding and straightening up. “Come on,” she said, leading the way back out of her office.

She didn’t go back towards the foyer - instead she led Phryne further down the corridor and through a door hiding a back staircase. They went up two flights and stepped out into another corridor. Double doors leading to a ward were on the left, but Mac turned right, where the doors were close together enough to indicate private rooms. Phryne was glad that Jack wasn’t on a ward, and made a note to thank Mac later - she was sure that was her friend’s doing.

Mac stopped about halfway down the corridor, and pointed to the last door. “That one,” she said. “Room 18. If he’s sleeping, try not to wake him up. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Phryne was a little surprised that she wasn’t going in with her, but was grateful for the chance to see Jack alone. She gave Mac’s hand a squeeze, then squared her shoulders and strode towards Room 18 and flung open the door before her courage failed her.

And there he was. Jack was awake, half sitting, propped up by at least three pillows, and his eyes were already on her as the door opened. Phryne froze on the threshold, her eyes raking over him, swallowing to stop herself from gasping aloud.

He looked _dreadful_. He was thin, his cheekbones cast into even greater relief than usual, though partially hidden by the scruffy growth of a beard covering his cheeks. He was pale, and the white sheets and cream hospital gown he wore made him appear even more so. His right arms  was in plaster, and in a sling across his chest, and his head was so heavily bandaged that she couldn’t see his hair at all. When she finally met his eyes, she saw that he had purple bags under them, but he was looking back at her with his familiar, frank gaze.

Phryne tightened her hold on the door handle and took a steadying breath. “Hello Jack,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fisher,” he replied, as he had so many times before. Phryne started to smile, but then Jack frowned. “I’m sorry, I mean Phryne. I don’t mean to be so formal - habit, I guess.”

Phryne stared at him for a long moment, before turning to close the door behind her, hiding her confused expression. Why was he apologising for calling her Miss Fisher? He always called her Miss Fisher.

She quickly decided it didn’t matter - she certainly wasn’t going to complain if Jack started to use her first name. She cleared her throat and started to walk over to the bed - he watched her approach with something like caution in his eyes: not a warning for her to stop whatever she was doing, which was a look of his she was very familiar with, but a wariness in himself.

He was actually unnerved by her presence. Phryne stopped in her tracks, near the foot of his bed, and tried to regain some kind of control of the situation.

“Honestly, Jack, I leave for for five minutes and look at the mess you’ve got yourself into,” she said after a moment.

Jack cleared his throat, another tell of nervousness which Phryne didn’t usually associate with Jack. “I’m not sure that your presence would have kept the warehouse roof from falling on my head, Mis- Phryne,” he said.

 _There was the name thing again._ Phryne pushed it to one side, and focused instead on what he’d said before her name. He 

“Is that what happened?” She asked, sitting down on the foot of his bed. “A roof fell on you?”

Jack’s eyes had widened when she'd sat down, but he'd quickly schooled his features again. Now he shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t bandaged. “So they tell me,” he said. “Considering the state of my head, I believe them.”

Phryne’s gaze raked over the bandages wrapped around his head once more - they made his head seem huge and his face minute, and the stark whiteness of them emphasised the circles under his eyes. She reached out and placed her hand over his, where it lay on top of the bedsheet.

“Thank goodness you’re alright, Jack,” she said softly. “I was so worried.”

If he’d looked nervous before, he looked positively terrified now. It was only for a brief moment, but there was no missing the way his eyes widened, or the way his entire body seemed to freeze when she touched him. He quickly schooled his features into a more impassive look, but there was a distinct blush creeping up his neck.

“I - thank you,” he mumbled.

Phryne shifted so her hand fell away from his, and he quickly moved his hand up to rest on his other arm, out of her reach. Phryne flinched, and looked away quickly to try and hide it. She’d been imagining her reunion with Jack from the moment she’d left him behind, and while the circumstances of her imaginings had changed with the news of his injuries, she’d nevertheless still assumed that he’d be happy to see her. Instead, he was acting like a wounded animal faced with a wolf.

Her eyes fell on a small wicker basket on his bedside table, which she recognised at once as being one of Mr Butler’s. She swallowed down her confusion and gave Jack a sunny smile.

“I see that Dot and Mr B have been keeping you provisioned,” she said.

Jack’s lips did twitch at that, which was _something_ at least. “Yes,” he said, “they’ve been very kind.”

There was a short silence, in which Jack seemed to find his plaster cast extremely interesting, and in which Phryne tried to regroup. She really wasn’t sure how to proceed - even before they’d become friends, Jack had never been wary around her, or at a loss for words. He’d never shied away from her touch, or backed down when she invaded his personal space. His quiet confidence had been one of the things that had drawn her to him in those early days, that had encouraged her to pursue his friendship and give him her trust.

Was this because of his memory loss? Had it changed him… made him forget who he was? Mac had said the memory loss was localised, but perhaps it was more far-reaching than she thought.

“So how was your trip to England?” Jack said, looking up at her. His tone was so casual it couldn't possibly be _actually_ casual, and Phryne found herself responding in kind - if Jack could attempt to salvage the conversation, she could certainly rally as well.

“Unbearable but necessary,” she said. “I was ready to kill father by the time we landed.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Oh. He’s not a cooperative passenger?”

It was a simple statement, but it cut to the heart for Phryne. Of course... he didn't remember her father, didn't remember his complaining at the airfield… didn't remember the airfield at all.

He didn't remember.

Jack was watching her closely, and Phryne quickly forced a smile to hide her crestfallen expression.

“No, he’s not… fond of flying,” she said.

Jack was still watching her, examining her face the way she'd seen him do to suspects so often, and Phryne’s smile wavered under his scrutiny.

He didn't remember. Phryne’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn't realised what Mac had… she hadn't understood.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment. He looked deeply discomforted. “I know I must seem… different.”

Phryne shook her head. “No, Jack that’s quite understandable,” she said distractedly. Which was true; Jack couldn't help that he didn't… didn't…

She shouldn't have come here.

She stood abruptly, and took a hasty step back from the bed. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” she said.

Jack looked positively pained now. “You’re not,” he said, wholly unconvincingly. He swallowed. “I’m… I’m just sorry that I don’t remember more of our… friendship.”

He looked down at his arm again, and Phryne took the chance to examine him instead.

She didn't want to know, but at the same time she needed to.

“What is the last thing you remember?” She asked softly.

“I was in my office, working on paperwork,” Jack said at once, as if he'd given the answer many times before. Then he looked back at her, and gave her a small, rueful smile. “Though if you mean of you, we had a drink in your house.”

Phryne smiled back, but knew it didn't reach her eyes. “That happens rather a lot.”

“Well, this was the first time,” he said.

Phryne’s stomach was churning. “Nothing else?”

He shook his head sadly. “No.”

Phryne nodded, looking away at the wall above his bed.

He didn't remember.

When she looked back at him he was staring at his cast again, and suddenly Phryne couldn't bear to be in the room any longer. Her throat felt tight, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak.

“Well, the important thing is that you're awake and… recovering,” she said.

Jack looked back at her and nodded. “Yes, in the grand scheme of things losing a year or so of memories is a small price to pay for surviving,” he said. Phryne felt like the air had been pushed out of her chest.

He didn't remember.

Phryne stared at him, her teeth worrying her inside lip, before she eventually nodded. “Exactly.” She took a deep breath, and fiddled with the lapels of her coat for a moment. Then she cleared her throat. “I should be going,” she said. “You need to rest and I need to be getting home, make sure everything is in order…”

The look Jack gave her was annoyingly understanding - annoying because how could he possibly understand when _he didn't remember_?

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you, for coming to see me.”

“Of course,” said Phryne, taking a few steps backwards. She gave him a very forced smile and then turned and walked briskly to the door. Her eyes were starting to brim with tears but she refused to let them fall.

She looked at him over her shoulder when she reached the door. “Goodbye Jack.”

“Goodbye, Phryne.”

The sound of her name had her flinging the door open and throwing herself through it before he could say anything else, because she now knew why he was being so careful to call her Phryne.

That first drink in her parlour, that was when he'd told her to call him Jack, and she'd told him to call her Phryne. The reason he was correcting himself now, forcing himself to use her first name, was because that was the last thing he remembered of her, and he naturally assumed that he'd taken her advice. He was trying to be considerate, trying to make the best of the situation. How was he to know that he so rarely used her first name, and instead insisted on calling her Miss Fisher even when they were alone, caressing the extra syllables with that honeyed tongue of his, as he stared her down?

He didn't remember.

Phryne walked blindly back the way she came down the hallway, head down and feet moving fast, until she pushed through the door to the staircase. The door swung closed behind her and Phryne stopped at the top of the stairs, her hand gripping the handrail so tight her knuckles whitened. She screwed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths, before sitting down on the top step with a thump and placing her hands over her face.

Somehow, when Mac had said he'd forgotten the last seventeen months, Phryne hadn't really understood. She'd been so relieved to hear that he still remembered her and so desperate to see him that she hadn't cared in that moment about any small details he might have lost. But five minutes in Jack’s room had made her realise: the details were everything. Sure, he remembered her, but only as… what? An eccentric rich lady who had interfered with three… no, _two_ of his cases? That's all she'd been to Jack back then, and there she was, expecting him to… to….

He didn't remember.

Phryne let out a shaky breath and brought her palms together, raising her head to stare down at the dim stairs below her. She thought about the way his eyes had widened when she’d sat on his bed. She thought of how disconcerted he'd been when she'd taken his hand, and how he'd snatched it back the moment he could. She thought of him trying to make small talk with her, to fill the awkward silences. She thought of him forcing himself to call her _Phryne_.

She was practically a stranger to him.

Phryne heard a door open above her, and quickly got to her feet, brushing off her coat. Honestly, what was she doing, sitting in stairwells feeling sorry for herself? Ridiculous. She swallowed down the lingering tightness in her throat and headed back down the stairs and along the corridor to Mac’s office.

Mac was sitting behind her desk, looking expectantly at her open door. The moment Phryne walked in and shut the door behind her, she pulled a bottle of whiskey out of her desk drawer and poured a measure into a glass that already stood on her desk, and had it ready for Phryne by the time she sat down. Phryne took the glass and took a small sip, but the taste of whiskey brought back so many memories of late nightcaps in her parlour that she put it down again hurriedly and folded her hands in her lap.

Mac watched her silently. Phryne wondered idly for a moment whether she should be angry that her friend hadn't told her of Jack’s condition in one of her many telegrams, but she couldn't find the energy to even contemplate it. Mac had told her when she needed to, and it wouldn't have done Phryne any good to feel this wretched while flying.

It didn't do her any good now that she was on solid ground either.

“Will the memories come back?” She said eventually, staring down at her hands.

“We don’t know,” said Mac, frank as ever. “There’s no way to predict it. I will say that the indications are good.”

Phryne gave her a sharp look.

“When he first woke up he was struggling with his short-term memory as well,” Mac explained, “and aside from the localised memory loss there were also some older memories that had just dropped out of his head, and he’s got those back.”

Phryne felt hope blossom in her chest like a flower. “So the other memories will come back too?”

“We can’t say that for sure,” said Mac.

“But if he got the other memories back -”

“He got those back within a few days, but nothing of the localised memories yet, and it’s been two weeks,” said Mac.

The hope was already withering. “So…”

“So we don’t know,” said Mac simply. “That’s the way it goes with memory loss - there’s no predicting it. He might get some of the memories back, he might get all of them. It might happen all of a sudden, it might be gradual. And he might not remember any of them, and just always have a year and a half he can’t remember.”

Phryne swallowed. “Can’t we, I don’t know, try to help him jog his memory somehow -”

Mac nodded. “Of course, and once he’s out of hospital and in more familiar surroundings we will - but right now we need to concentrate on his physical recovery.”

Phryne felt a frisson of guilt for not even considering how his body was recovering in the face of his memory loss. “And how is that progressing?” She asked.

“Well enough, but slowly,” said Mac. “His head injury means that he gets dizzy if he stands for too long, and he’s still getting bad headaches and needs to sleep a lot.”

It was painful to think of Jack as basically bedridden, and Phryne shifted in her seat. “And how is he in himself?”

“Well what did you think?”

Phryne huffed a humourless laugh. “I think he had no idea what to say to me, and wanted me to leave as soon as possible,” she said.

“I doubt that’s true,” said Mac immediately. Phryne gave her an incredulous look, which Mac countered with a raised eyebrow. “You’re probably right about him not knowing what to say, but he’s been too curious about you to want you leave straight away.”

There was that hope again. “Curious?”

“Yes.” Mac gave her a small smile. “You can hardly blame him- not only did he hear that you were flying back from England because he was injured, but your butler keeps sending him food via your companion, and your best friend visits him twice a day.”

Phryne couldn't bring herself to smile back - it was too painful, to consider that those things which seemed so _obvious_ to her must be so incredible to him.   
  
“What did you tell him?” She asked after a moment.

“That the two of you are close friends.”

Phryne nodded. It was true, for a certain definition of the word. But it felt so… insufficient as a description of what the two of the were to each other.

What they _had been_.

Phryne took another gulp of the whiskey. It tasted of nothing at all.

“He was coming to England,” she said quietly.

“I know, darling.” The look Mac gave her was almost unbearable, and Phryne stood abruptly.

“I should be getting home,” she said briskly. “Mr Butler will be waiting, and Dot. Are you coming for dinner?”

Mac was still giving her that look. Phryne fussed with the lapels of her coat, avoiding her eye.

“I'll be there at seven thirty,” Mac said eventually. Phryne nodded and headed for the office door.

“I'll make sure he takes it easy,” Mac called after her. Phryne paused at the door and looked back at her. “We'll get his body back to normal, then we'll work on the rest.”

She could only nod again, before practically fleeing the office. Her mind was racing, as she forced herself to think of anything at all but the one thought her mind wanted to dwell on.

She would make her way home. It would be lovely to see Dot and Mr B again. She wanted to hear all their news, especially how Dot was adjusting to married life. Phryne was sure that she loved it. She would have a lovely soak in the bath and put on a dress for the first time in weeks. Maybe she could have a nap before dinner to make sure she was fresh for her guests. She should give Aunt Prudence a call and arrange to see her as soon as possible. It would be too late notice to get her over for dinner that evening. Perhaps she could convince Mr B to make one of his trifles, she'd been craving his desserts for-

“Woah, miss, are you alright?”

Phryne stopped in her tracks, startled to find that she'd made her way outside and had been about to walk right past Bert and Cec. Cec had put out a hand to stop her, and was looking at her in concern.

She gave him a bright smile. “Sorry, was away with the fairies!” She said. “Shall we head home?”

Cec gave her a funny look but nodded and went to open the car door for her. Bert was leaning against the bonnet and finishing a cigarette.

“Did you see him?” He asked. “We thought you'd be a while.”

It felt like it had been hours to Phryne, but in reality she'd probably been in the hospital under thirty minutes.

She turned her smile on Bert. “Oh yes - yes I saw him. He tires easily, so I didn't want to stay too long.”

She climbed into the car before he could say anything, grateful for the chance to hide her face. It wasn't that she considered Cec and Bert to be particularly adept at knowing her tells, but she felt the lie deeply as she said it. Well… half lie. He did tire easily, Mac had said as much.

But she would have definitely stayed longer if things had been different.

Cec and Bert climbed into the front of the taxi and the car wound out of the hospital parking lot. Phryne didn't look back.

“So how is he, miss?” Asked Bert. “We saw Dottie the other day and she said that he's doing pretty well, but that he’ll be in for a while longer.”

Phryne swallowed. “Yes, I think he'll be in until he's a little more recovered,” she said. “I don't think he can be out of bed much at the moment.”

“Must have been a fair old knock to the head he took,” said Bert.

Phryne hummed in agreement.

Cec cleared his threat. “Dot mentioned that he'd lost some of his memories,” he said. “Is that true, miss?”

He didn't remember.

Phryne pursed her lips and nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything else, but luckily neither of the men pressed her for more details. She saw them exchange a look, and then Cec launched into a story about a fare they'd taken the week before, from an elderly Irish lady who'd had them drive her to each of her grandchildren’s houses to inform them to their face that she was writing them out of her will.

Phryne sat back, grateful beyond words for the chance to just listen. It was entertaining - the lady sounded like a battle axe, and exactly Phryne’s kind of old girl - but she soon found her thoughts wandering back to Jack. She tried to concentrate on the story, tried to distract herself as she'd done before, but it was no use. Her mind kept returning to the same thought that had haunted her since her moment of realisation at his bedside.

He didn't remember.

_He didn't remember that he loved her._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this chapter, I had the WORST writer's block for it, honestly it was like pulling teeth. So glad it's done!!

To be honest, being home didn't really help. 

 

It was, of course, lovely to see Dot and Mr B again. She had hugged her companion for close to a minute before letting her go, and had even given Mr B a smacking kiss on the cheek when he’d opened the door for her. The familiarity of her beloved Wardlow felt like something of a balm when she first arrived, soothing the heartache she was failing to ignore, but it didn't take long for that very familiarity to become its own punishment. She saw Jack everywhere she looked - sitting at her piano, leaning against the mantelpiece, lounging in an armchair, eating at her dining table, reaching across her kitchen table to take her hand…

 

When had this happened?  _ How  _ had it happened? How had Jack Robinson so ingrained himself so fully into her consciousness that she saw his spectre in every room of her home? It wasn't right, even if he hadn't been… even if he hadn't forgotten that…

 

It wasn't  _ right _ .

 

Perhaps it was just as well, if this was the level of ridiculousness she'd have to contend with if they were together. 

 

She pushed down the shame she felt at the thought, and resolved to not think about it. She was going to give Jack the time and space he needed to get back on his feet. If his awkwardness that morning had been any indication, her presence wasn't good for him, and seeing  _ him _ clearly hadn't done any good for her own own peace of mind. 

 

Phryne threw herself into being cheerful. She was home after all, so she was happy. Of course she was. 

 

She had a truly luxurious bath. She sat down to a glorious luncheon courtesy of Mr B. She had a long talk with Dot about married life. It was all fine, except… except for that spectre. 

 

She was still seeing him everywhere. Still unable to stop imagining what their reunion should have been had all been well. Both Dot and Mr Butler asked after him as soon as they'd finished asking after her, and even though she'd deflected their questions with ease she  _ felt _ the avoidance, and so he was lingering on the edge of all her conversations as well. Mr B was preparing another basket of food to be taken to the hospital the next day, and Dot asked Prhyne if she’d need her to go with her, as if it was a foregone conclusion that Phryne would be taking the basket herself. 

 

Phryne told Dot and Mr B that she intended to visit some friends and wouldn't make it to the hospital the next day. She couldn't stomach the idea of another visit like the one that morning, with Jack acting so awkwardly around her, shying away from her very touch. And besides, he didn’t remember her, not properly, so going to see him again so soon would be odd for him anyway.

 

Dot and Mr B didn't question her, and their blind trust made Phryne feel even worse about lying to them. 

 

And layered on top of all of this was a general uneasiness when she thought back on her visit with Jack. She couldn't help feeling that she could have handled the situation better, but - well… she hadn't been rude. She hadn't been cruel. She had even managed to hide her own dismay - and dismay was too weak a word for she'd felt in that moment. Quite honestly, given the shock she'd had, she felt she'd done rather well. And she had even resolved to give him space for his own good. 

 

Still though, it didn't feel right with her and she couldn't quite put her finger on why. 

 

Really, though, why should she feel bad? Jack  _ had  _ been awkward, he had clearly wanted her to leave as soon as possible, no matter what Mac thought. As far as he was concerned they were practically strangers, and forcing her company on him when he didn't want it wouldn’t do either of them any good. 

 

No, it was for the best

 

She telephoned her Aunt Prudence, and even she asked after Jack within the first minute of the conversation. Phryne arranged to see her for dinner the following evening and ended the call quickly. 

 

Hugh arrived sometime after six -  _ came home _ , really, since he and Dot were living at Wardlow while they looked for a house of their own - and he received a kiss on the cheek as well. Phryne was pleased to see the young man still blushed, despite now being acquainted with the ways of the world.

 

Hugh made it a whole ten minutes before mentioning Jack, and that was only because Phryne managed to sidetrack him into telling her what cases he was working on first. 

 

“Have you seen the Inspector, miss?” 

 

“Yes, this morning,” she said. “He seemed well,” she added before he could ask, the same as everyone else. 

 

Hugh nodded. “Yes, he was in good spirits when I left him this morning.”

 

“Oh, you visited this morning as well?”

 

“Yes miss, I've been going every day on my way to the station.”

 

Phryne felt a wave of affection for the loyal Hugh Collins, and she smiled at him. She was glad that Jack had someone visiting him every day - she was sure it did him good…because, of course, he remembered Hugh. His visits were probably very comforting. Unlike hers. 

 

Phryne cleared her throat. “Tell me more about this burglary, Hugh - what did the maid say?” 

 

Bert arrived, and Cec with Alice, and Phryne could feel her cheeks aching with the width of her smile. But she refused to let it drop. 

 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to invite her entire Melbourne family - it just made it all the more obvious who was missing. 

 

Mac was the last to arrive, straight from the hospital, and they all sat down to dinner fairly as soon as she got there. At Phryne’s insistence the dinner was an informal, buffet style meal so that Mr B could join them, though she noted that he was definitely doing some stealth serving. 

 

It didn't take long for the talk to turn to Jack - Bert asked Mac her opinion on whether he would regain his memory; Phryne turned to Alice and asked her all about her new job. Later, when Hugh made a reference to the new station commander at City South and how he was rearranging Jack’s office, Phryne started telling Dot about all the fabrics she'd seen in India. Dot then suggested to Mr B that she make a cake for Jack; Phryne turned to Mac to ask her about any unusual deaths that she'd seen while she'd been away. 

 

The look that Mac gave her was knowing enough to make Phryne uncomfortable, but she just paused for a moment to give the look and then began to tell her about a man who'd been killed in a bar fight who'd had three fatal wounds inflicted by three different people. 

 

It was towards the end of the meal that Mr B mentioned needing to make a new batch of biscuits for Jack. Phryne turned to Hugh to ask how Abbotsford were getting on, but unfortunately for her Hugh was too interested in the topic of biscuits to notice her. 

 

“Didn't you just do a batch yesterday, Mr Butler?” He asked before Phryne could say anything to him. 

 

Mr Butler was nodding. “Yes, but Dot asked the Inspector if there was anything he specifically wanted and he asked for biscuits,” he said. 

 

Phryne glanced round the table for someone to engage in conversation, but everyone was listening to the exchange and it would have been far too… well, obvious. 

 

“He said that Doctor Macmillan keeps stealing them,” said Dot. 

 

Everyone but Phryne laughed as Mac scoffed loudly. “Bloody cheek!” She exclaimed. “Just because I had two yesterday.” She paused and smiled wickedly. “And three this morning.”

 

Everyone laughed again. Phryne smiled widely and had some more wine. 

 

“He'd tried to hide them, but unfortunately for him he can't really walk by himself so there's a very limited amount of places he can put them,” said Mac. 

 

Everyone laughed again, as though it were a great joke that Jack couldn't leave his hospital bed. Phryne kept smiling. 

 

“Do you see him everyday Doc?” Asked Cec. 

 

Mac nodded. “Yeah, I pop in before I leave in the evening, and I try to get up there during the morning as well,” she said. 

 

“Sounds like you'll need to do a batch a day, Mr B,” quipped Bert. More laughter. 

 

“I’d be happy to make you your own batch of biscuits if you'd like, Doctor Macmillan,” said Mr Butler. 

 

“That's alright Mr B, I have my supply,” said Mac. 

 

The conversation -  _ finally -  _ moved on, but Phryne stayed quiet, lost in her own thoughts. Her uneasiness from earlier was back, and she still couldn't quite place what it was she was feeling. She wondered briefly if she were annoyed with Mac and the rest for the flippant way they were discussing Jack, joking around as though he just had a broken arm and not a serious injury that had fundamentally altered him as a person. She couldn't convince herself that that was the reason though - Mac might've made a joke about Jack and his biscuits, but she wasn't likely to forget the seriousness of Jack’s injury. And the real takeaway from her story wasn't that she stole his food, it was that she visited him twice a day. 

 

The thought made Phryne's stomach churn and she found she couldn't eat much more than a few mouthfuls of the delicious trifle Mr B had made. 

 

Cec and Bert had some long-standing social engagement elsewhere to run off to after dinner, so they and Alice left quickly. Dot and Hugh threw themselves into helping Mr Butler clear up, and declared their intention of going for a walk once they were done, leaving just Mac to join Phryne for a drink in the parlour. 

 

She expected her friend to call her out on her behaviour during dinner, but Mac just poured herself a drink and stayed silent, waiting for Phryne to speak. It was almost worse than an interrogation; the steady, silent look of her friend was more effective than any pointed questions could be. 

 

But Phryne didn't want to talk about it. She didn't even know what she would say - she couldn't even explain her feelings to herself.

 

So, instead, she put on the first record that came to hand and started telling Mac a funny story about her father getting away from her in Amsterdam. Mac responded in kind with more tales from the morgue, and Phryne should have been able to relax but she couldn't - the uneasiness in her was clawing at her insides, until finally she couldn't avoid the subject any longer. 

 

“How did he seem this evening, when you saw him?” She asked. 

 

If Mac was surprised by the sudden change in topic, she didn’t show it - she just took another sip of whiskey. “Fed up,” she said. 

“Oh?”

 

“Completely and utterly miserable,” said Mac. 

 

Phryne flinched, and quickly raised her glass to her lips to try and cover it. It was just… had her visit really upset him that much? 

 

Mac raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, he has been stuck in that bed for a while now,” she said. “He's borne it pretty well to be honest, so I'll allow him a day or two of feeling sorry for himself.” She had some more whiskey. “What he really needs is company.” 

 

Phryne felt the jab, but ignored it. “He’s lucky to have you visiting him,” she said. She gave Mac a brief smile. “Thank you for that.” 

 

Mac levelled another one of her knowing looks at her over the rim of her glass. “I don't do it for you, you know,” she said. “I visit him because he's my friend, and because I'm sure he'd do the same for me.”

 

Phryne stared at her. Mac knocked back the rest of her whiskey and stood up. “Well, I’d better head off, early start tomorrow,” she said. 

 

Phryne barely managed a nod in response. It had hit her, all of a sudden, the reason for her uneasiness, and her throat felt too tight to speak. 

 

It was shame. 

 

Shame that she was abandoning Jack. 

 

Some distant part of her recognised that she was being a tad dramatic, but… that was what she was doing, wasn't it? She was planning to leave him to convalesce in hospital alone, hoping that at some point he'd remember her - remember  _ them _ , at which point she'd swoop back in to pick up where they'd left off. But what if he didn't? What if he never got those memories back? Was she just never going to see him again? 

 

The thought made Phryne's breath catch in her throat. No, of course not, she'd never let it get that far. She just needed time to adjust to the new reality. It had been so painful, visiting him that morning...

 

Phryne leant back in her chair and closed her eyes with a sigh. It  _ was  _ painful, everything about the situation hurt. But this wasn't about her - Jack was the one who was injured, who had lost part of his life. He was the one stuck in hospital, in  _ actual  _ pain, unable to even get out of bed. 

 

Mac’s parting words rattled around in her mind -  _ he'd do the same for me. _ For a moment, Phryne considered what would happen if the situation were reversed, and she had forgotten him. She thought of how she would react if a man she barely knew showed up to her hospital room, expecting her to love him.  _ Awkward _ didn't even begin to cover it. Even so, Phryne knew that Jack wouldn't be deterred - he'd be there every day, with case files and old newspapers and stories, not pushing her for anything but being there anyway. She could see it so clearly, and it made her feel ill. 

 

The bottom line was that, before anything else, Jack was her friend, and even if he didn't remember that  _ she did _ . Memory loss or not he was still Jack - and Jack deserved more from her. 

 

Phryne threw back the rest of her drink and headed into the kitchen. Dishes were soaking in the sink, the surface of the table was scattered with flour, and the smell of baking biscuits filled the air. Mr B was sitting at the table cutting vegetables, and stood up as she entered. 

 

“Can I get you anything Miss?” 

 

Phryne waved a hand for him to sit back down. “No, no thank you Mr B - I just wanted to let you know I've decided I will take the food to the Inspector tomorrow after all, so perhaps you could make enough for us to share lunch?” 

 

Mr B gave her a pleased smile. “Very good, Miss,” he said. 

 

Phryne nodded and left. It  _ was  _ very good. Even if it would feel very much the opposite. 

 

 

XXXXX

 

 

He'd upset her. 

 

He didn't know what he'd said or done, or what he'd  _ not  _ said or done, but Miss Fisher -  _ Phryne -  _ was upset. He could almost swear that she'd been blinking back tears as she'd left, though she was very good at hiding it. 

 

After she'd gone, Jack had sat staring at the door for a long time, remembering the way she'd flinched when he'd pulled his hand away from hers. The way she'd been so obviously unsure of what to say to him. The way she'd suddenly become visibly upset by something and had left the room as quickly as she could. 

 

Regret warred with indignation in Jack’s head. Perhaps he could have made more of an effort to be.. what? He had  _ no idea  _ what he was to her. A friend? Alright, but it was difficult to pick up the threads of a friendship he didn't remember. An investigative partner? He only remembered two of their cases, and they hadn't been partners on those so much as duelling detectives following parallel leads before reluctantly pulling together. 

 

He didn't have anything to feel guilty about, he wasn't in the wrong here. 

 

Of course, neither was she. And despite knowing he shouldn't he  _ did _ feel guilty. He hadn't thought of how his memory loss had the potential to hurt the people who… well,  _ cared  _ about him. (It was incredible to think of The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher as one of those people, but since she'd just left his hospital room close to tears it was hard to deny…)

 

He'd upset her without even realising. Just by _being._ And there was nothing he could do about it, since his memories were as elusive as they'd ever been. All he could do was lie in that bed, waiting for his body to heal enough for him to get out of the damn hospital, where he might be in with some small chance of _actually_ _remembering something._ And if that didn't happen, he was going to just have to carry on as if the last year and a half of his life hadn't even happened. 

 

God, he wanted to get out of that damn hospital. 

 

By the time Doctor Macmillan arrived for her evening visit, Jack was feeling decidedly sullen. He braced himself for her to ask him about Miss Fisher’s visit, but she didn't mention her. Jack felt equally relieved and annoyed. 

 

The doctor wasn't wearing her white coat and had touched up her hair and make up as if she were going somewhere, and it occurred to Jack that now that Miss Fisher had returned she probably did have plans with her friend. And instead of being able to just go and enjoy her evening after a long day of work she felt obliged to come and visit him first. 

 

He didn't say anything, since that would have been the height of ingratitude, but the thought did nothing to improve his mood. 

 

A fitful night’s sleep didn’t help either, and then Collins was there - another person giving up their free time to visit him - full of chipper tales of the dinner at Miss Fisher’s the night before, what the food was like, how nice it was to have Miss Fisher back, how everyone was thinking of him, how Dot would be by later with another basket, and with extra biscuits. Then he told Jack all about the serial mugger they'd just got in custody, having caught him in a coordinated sting the previous day. Jack was glad, of course, that such a person was off the streets, but at the same time he couldn't help feeling even more useless. Not even the station needed him, it seemed. 

 

Doctor Macmillan arrived as Collins was leaving, and the two of them greeted each other cheerfully. Jack scowled down at his broken arm. 

 

“Not feeling any better today?” Said the doctor after Collins had left. 

 

“Same as yesterday,” Jack confirmed. 

 

Doctor Macmillan pursed her lips, and Jack suddenly realised she wasn't referring to his condition, but to his  _ mood.  _ He scowled again. 

 

She shrugged and sat down on the chair next to his bed. Collins had left the day’s newspaper on the chair, and she picked it up as she sat down. 

 

“How's the reading coming?”

 

“Not any better,” he said. “Still hurts like hell.” 

 

“But Collins still brings the paper for you?” 

 

“He doesn't know I can't read it,” Jack said. He'd thought of telling him, but he'd felt too awkward the first time he'd brought the paper, and afterwards didn't want to make him feel bad about his kind gesture. And he certainly didn't want to give the man any more reasons to pity him. 

 

The doctor put the paper on his bedside table. “Do you want to try walking?” 

 

Jack sighed. “Do you mind if I don't? I just don't really feel like it right now,” he said. 

 

“Alright, but you're trying when I come back later whether you feel like it or not.”

 

“You don't have to do that,” Jack said before he could stop himself. The doctor raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean… please don't feel you have to keep coming to see me every day. I know you're busy and-”

 

“Don't do that,” the doctor cut in. She was scowling at  _ him  _ now. “Don't start trying to push people away.” 

 

“I'm not-”

 

“I know you're fed up, and with good reason, but cutting down your visitors isn't going to help with that,” said the doctor firmly. Jack could feel himself going red from a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “I'm not going anywhere, neither is Collins, and neither is anyone else.” 

 

Jack couldn't help but pull a face at that, considering how fast Miss Fisher had run out of the room the day before, and the doctor noticed. 

 

“You're going to have to trust me on that,” she said enigmatically. “I know more about it than you do.” 

 

Jack looked at her curiously, wondering if Miss Fisher had said anything to her at dinner. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, and the embarrassment was definitely winning over his annoyance. He shouldn't have said anything - she'd been so kind. And of course she'd seen right through him. She was right - even if it did depress him to think of people having to make allowances for him, he would feel a lot worse if they stopped. 

 

“Yes doctor,” he said meekly. 

 

She rolled her eyes. “And for god’s sake, call me Mac.”

 

“Yes Mac,” he said, playing up the meekness this time. 

 

She rolled her eyes again at his tone but the scowl was gone. “Alright then,” she said. She stood up. “Well, if you're sure you don't want to try walking I'll be going.”

 

Jack nodded. “Do you want the last of the biscuits?” He said casually. 

 

Mac snorted. “Nice try, but I'll wait for the fresh ones to arrive later,” she said. 

 

Jack glared at her - she grinned, and then was gone. 

 

Jack sighed and rested his head back against the pillows. He shouldn't have said anything, but it was probably a good thing that he'd said it to the doctor -  _ Mac _ \- instead of to Collins. 

 

He stared sullenly at the newspaper on the table next to him, and his feelings of restlessness washed over him once more. He suddenly wished he had tried to walk, at least it would have been  _ something to do.  _ Honestly, it really wouldn't be so bad if he could read. He could use all this time lying around to catch up on the books he'd been putting off. He could get Collins to bring him some cold case files. He could have something to think about other than how useless he felt. 

 

He sighed and closed his eyes. 

 

He must have slept a little, because the next time he opened his eyes the sun was slanting into the room from far higher in the sky and he was starting to feel hungry. He wondered when Mrs Collins would bring him food, and then felt guilty for just  _ expecting  _ her to bring him food, even though Collins had mentioned she’d be coming by. 

 

It was almost an hour later, when he could hear the sounds of lunch starting to be served on the ward, that he heard the clack of heels in the hallway and, once again, Phryne Fisher was suddenly standing in his doorway. 

 

Seeing her there was somehow  _ more _ of a surprise than her first appearance - after the way she’d left the day before he hadn’t expected another visit at all, let alone the very next day. 

 

“Hello Jack!” She said cheerfully, walking towards him. “How are you today?”

 

Jack realised he was gaping at her, and quickly closed his mouth. “I- fine, thank you,” he managed. 

“I brought us lunch,” she said, placing a wicker basket on the bedside table and reaching up to remove her stylish hat - mint green to match the day dress she was wearing. Jack’s eyebrows shot up at  _ us _ , and she noticed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got permission from Sister Forrest,” she added with a smile, as if  _ that  _ was what Jack was thinking about. She turned away from him and opened up the basket. 

 

“Mr B made some of his chicken and mushroom pies, they're heavenly,” she said, pulling out two plates and balancing them on the bed next to Jack before starting to pull dishes out of the basket. “And some potato salad, a couple of slices of strawberry cake, and some extra biscuits, as ordered.” 

 

She was dishing food out onto the plates as she spoke, and Jack watched her silently, only slightly distracted by the - indeed - heavenly smell of the food. 

 

If it were anyone else, Jack would say she was nervous. Her smiles weren't quite believable, and she wasn't quite meeting his eye. She was speaking quickly, and her tone was just a little higher than usual. 

 

Nervous or not, she was clearly unsettled but trying her best to hide it, ignore it, or both, and Jack felt a sudden surge of something like  _ affection _ for her. Something about their visit yesterday had upset her and sent her practically fleeing, but instead of staying away she'd come back the next day… presumably having decided that visiting him was more important than her own peace of mind. 

 

Jack remembered what Mac had said about them being friends, and for the first time he really believed it, and if she was prepared to make such an effort, it was only right for him to do the same. 

 

Unfortunately he couldn't think of a single thing to say. 

 

She finished dishing out the food and wheeled over the table that slotted over the bed for Jack to eat off of. Once it was in place she placed a full plate on top of it and handed Jack a fork. 

 

“Thank you,” he said. She smiled and then sat down in the chair next to the bed, one knee drawn up to her chest to rest her own plate on. She moved so smoothly that somehow her skirt managed to cover everything. Jack blinked and looked down at his food. It looked just as delicious as it smelled, though Jack wasn't sure how he would be able to cut up the pies with only a fork, not to mention one-handed. 

 

Miss Fisher let out a satisfied sigh, and his eyes snapped back to her to see that she'd picked up one of the small pies whole and bitten into it. Jack’s lips twitched into a small smile. 

 

“Hmm, I did miss Mr B’s cooking while I was away,” she said after a moment. 

 

Jack seized on the topic. “He does seem to be an excellent cook,” he said. “How did you find him?”

 

He worried for a moment that this was something he should know, and that it might just serve to remind her of his situation, but she smiled as she answered - and to Jack’s eye it looked like a genuine smile. 

 

“Through my aunt - she asked around for me, and one of her friends mentioned that a friend of hers had a man who was looking for a new position, preferably in Melbourne - he'd been working in Sydney, and then his employer moved to India. He didn't fancy it,” she explained. “Anyway, I believe Aunt P has always regretted passing him on to me - so I have to watch her very carefullywith him, I'm sure she'd nab him if she could.” Her smile faded a little, into something softer. “She sends her regards, by the way.” 

 

Jack had nothing he could possibly say to that, so he took refuge in his food. 

 

It was a good refuge. 

 

While they ate Miss Fisher -  _ Phryne _ , he reminded himself sternly - kept up the conversation with a string of anecdotes and observations, which required little input from him. It still felt a little awkward, a tiny bit forced, but Jack appreciated it all the same, and by the end of the meal he was even introducing topics himself: asking after Miss Ross (still with her, but at school in France); when she had acquired her plane (not long after she'd arrived in Melbourne, from an old family friend who never used it); and the story of why Mrs Collins had had to ask Collins to the ball (he'd almost completely bottled it, but Jack had told Phryne what Collins had been planning to do, and Phryne had told Dot who’d taken matters into her own hands). 

 

After about an hour Phryne packed the remnants of the lunch back into the basket - leaving behind a tin of biscuits - and pinned her hat back into place. 

 

“Thank you for lunch,” said Jack, “and for the company.”

 

“My pleasure, Jack,” she said with a smile. “I'll be back tomorrow.” 

 

Jack opened his mouth to tell her that wasn't necessary, but he remembered what Mac had said and thought better of it. “I'll look forward to it,” he said instead. 

 

“Can I bring you anything beside food?” Phryne asked. “More comfortable bedclothes? Flowers to brighten up the room? I know - some reading material?”

 

Jack swallowed. “No thank you.”

 

Phryne raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You must be tired of just having the paper to read,” she said.

 

Jack hesitated for a moment, but in the end saw no reason to lie to her. “It’s very kind of you but - I can’t actually read,” he said. 

 

Her eyes widened. “What do-” 

 

“I can read, but it hurts my head too much,” he quickly clarified. He looked down and plucked his bedclothes with his good hand. “Apparently it's pretty common and will get better with time.”

 

He looked back up to see Phryne staring at him in confusion. “But… if you can’t  _ read _ , what on earth have you been doing with yourself all day?” She asked.

 

Jack gave her an attempt at a rueful smile and shrugged his good shoulder.

 

Phryne was gaping at him, looking horrified, but after a moment she shut her mouth with a snap, straightened her shoulders and put the basket back on the table. 

 

“Well, I’ll just have to read to you,” she said, snatching up the newspaper and sitting down again. 

 

Jack could feel the back of his neck going red. “You don’t have to do that Phryne,” he said. 

 

Phryne answered him by reaching up to remove her hat again. “I know I don’t,” she said breezily, not looking at him. She opened the newspaper. 

 

“Shall I start with the football scores? No doubt you want to know how Abbotsford are getting on,” she said, flicking through to find the sports section, oblivious to Jack’s dumbfounded expression. “I’m afraid they made rather a poor showing at the end of the last season, finished sixth in the end. Let’s see…” 

 

 


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OUCH this took a long time to update! I had a very busy summer and am having an even busier autumn, but I will try to update this story a bit quicker from now on. This is quite a long chapter, hopefully that helps with the wait...

After that first day, Phryne seemed to have made it her personal mission to keep Jack entertained. He wasn't complaining - well, not exactly. It was just a little…. overwhelming.

For a start, she was there every day. And not just for quick visits, like Collins or Mrs Collins or even Mac - she stayed for hours at a time, talking to him or reading to him. The day after she’d read him practically the entire newspaper (with a running commentary of her thoughts on the reporting), she’d turned up the next morning with a silk-covered cushion for the bedside chair, a basket of scones, and two Zane Grey novels.

“We’ll start with _Avalanche_ , Jack, since it came out first,” she had announced, settling back against her cushion and propping her feet up on the edge of his mattress. “I know for a fact that you obtained a copy the week it was released in America, but obviously you won’t remember that.”

Jack had gaped at her, but she had either not noticed his expression or decided to ignore it, and settled in to start reading.

When she wasn't reading to him or feeding him, she was doing all she could to see that he was comfortable. She brought him three pairs of pyjamas, apparently because “that horrible hospital gown makes you look like a ghost, Jack” - one of the pairs was a rich blue silk, and the other two pairs were made of the softest cotton he'd ever felt. They had all been altered to remove the right sleeve. She brought more cushions, this time for his bed. His room was soon filled with flowers and potted plants, and Phryne herself tended to them under his supervision from the bed. She asked if there was anyone he'd like to write to, and transcribed a letter to his sister that he dictated to her, and promised to post it for him. She offered to play cards with him, though the fact that she disliked card games was one thing about her he actually still knew. She seemed very pleased when he told her he remembered as much, and the next day brought in a draughts board.

Gone was the hurt he'd seen so clearly on her face that first day she'd come to visit him - the Phryne who visited him these days was cool, collected, friendly and smiley. She was, in actual fact, a lot like how he remembered her, and like then he found himself enjoying her company in spite of his confusion.

He kept expecting the hospital staff to object to her bringing food every day, or to her filling his room with personal objects, or her staying far beyond the prescribed visiting hours. However, it seemed having an aunt on the hospital board was enough to keep the wolves at bay, and after a few days she and Mr Butler’s walnut cake had most of the staff eating out of her hand anyway.

One morning about a week into this new arrangement, around the time that Jack had come to expect Phryne to arrive, there came the sound of heavy shuffling outside his room, before his door was flung open and a man in a cream overcoat backed slowly into the room. Jack recognised him immediately – Cecil Yates, one of the red-raggers that he’d had run-ins with in the past. He wasn’t looking at Jack, and was instead concentrating on heaving a large wooden crate through the door.

“Careful! You need to move to the right – the _right_ -“

“That is the right!”

“ _My_ right you –“

“Well you should have said that – look just put it down a sec.”

Jack recognised the other voice before Albert Johnson appeared through the door as well, carrying the other side of the crate. They lowered it to the ground with a dull thud, and both leant against it for a moment. It came up to about their waists. Jack wasn’t sure what was more intriguing – that the two men had suddenly appeared in his hospital room, or what was in the box.

After a moment Yates looked over at Jack and gave him a sunny smile, which was almost as surprising as him being there. Jack was well aware he wasn’t popular with the socialist crowd.

“Hello Inspector!”

“Mr Yates,” said Jack.

“Blimey, you look terrible,” said Johnson. He wasn’t smiling, but he also wasn’t glaring the way Jack was used to from him.

“Thanks,” Jack was dryly. He nodded to the crate. “What is that?”

“Courtesy of Miss Fisher,” said Yates, just as the lady herself swept into the room. She was dressed in lavender today.

“Thank you gents - I think that corner over there, if you’d be so kind,” she said, gesturing to the corner to the right of Jack’s bed.

“Right-o miss,” said Johnson, and he and Yates bent to heave the crate back up. “Hello Jack,” said Phryne, coming to stand by the left side of his bed as the two men carried the crate to the other side.

“Phryne,” Jack said. “What is that?”

“It’s a wireless,” Phryne said with a smile, peeling off her white kid gloves. Jack stared at her.

“A wireless.”

“Yes - well I can’t be here all the time, and you need something to keep you entertained, this seemed like the best solution,” she said matter-of-factly.

Jack didn’t think there was anything _matter-of-fact_ about the situation. “Surely the hospital isn’t going to allow you to set up a wireless in my room…”

“Of course they are, I’m donating it to them after you leave,” Phryne said cheerfully. She sat down and gave Jack a triumphant look. “Along with the four others that are being distributed to the wards as we speak.”

“Phryne… you… it’s…”

Phryne waved away his stuttered and completely ignored him while Johnson and Yates opened the crate and revealed a beautiful wireless with what looked like a mahogany finish. Jack could do nothing but watch from his bed as they set it up, and soon the sound of Haydn was filling the room.

“Excellent reception here,” said Phryne with a grin. “How lucky.”

Somehow Jack thought that Phryne Fisher made her own luck, but he didn’t say anything.

And so it went on. Every day, Phryne would appear in his room to keep him company for at least three hours. Mac still visited twice a day, and Collins every morning as regular as clockwork. The boredom and ennui he’d felt a few weeks before was gone, and not only because of the visits - he was also, _finally_ , making progress.

There was no change in his memory loss - no flashes of sudden insight or realisation, but Jack was becoming more and more resigned to the idea that he would never get the memories back and really, he didn’t mind so much. It was frustrating, and was upsetting on some level, but there was nothing he could do about it and the more he thought about it the more he felt it was something he would be able to live with if he needed to. He could read case reports to catch up on what he’d missed at work, and Collins would surely help him to fill in any blanks. He would be fine, even if nothing came back to him.

The important this was that his _body_ was recovering.

He no longer needed help to get out of or into the bed, and was able to walk unaided to the bathroom. He was slow, and it exhausted him, and he couldn’t walk around for any length of time, but it was _something_ at least. The constant, throbbing ache in his head had gone for the most part, though did still bother him if he exerted himself. Best of all, he was able to read - again, he had to pace himself and wasn’t able to read much at once, but it was certainly better than it had been. His right arm no longer needed to be in a sling and he had begun exercises for his shoulder, which was stiff but barely painful anymore - he needed to be careful as his collarbone was still healing, but it was workable. The veritable turban of bandages around his head had been removed and replaced with a simple strip, the relief of which was extreme.

It was _progress_ , and it made him feel a great deal better about the entire situation to be able to feel his body healing. He knew he still had a long way to go, but he could actually begin to picture himself well again, back home and back at work.

With the realisation he was recovering came an increasing restlessness once again. He wasn’t bored, but he had begun to feel incredibly confined. He’d been in the hospital for weeks now.

Jack brought up the subject with Doctor Landry at his next visit. The doctor had taken Jack for a short walk down the corridor and assessed his body’s reaction to the exertion. Jack was tired, and lightheaded, but less so than the day before.

“Excellent, Inspector,” said the doctor, making notes on a clipboard. “You’ve made fine progress. Anything on the memory front?”

“Nothing.”

The doctor nodded. “Not to worry. Once you’re in familiar surroundings again you’ll be far more likely to regain memories.”

Jack cleared his throat. “And, how long will it be before I can be in familiar surroundings?”

Doctor Landry looked up from his notes. “Ah, yes. I did want to speak to you about that,” he said. He gave Jack a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry Inspector, but I’m not able to send you home just yet.”

Jack let out a frustrated breath. “Why? Surely there are other patients who need this room more than I do!”

“I dare say that’s true,” said the doctor calmly.

“And you say being home will help my memory.”

“I believe it will.”

Jack sighed. “I want to go home,” he said quietly.

Doctor Landry put down the clipboard and folded his arms. “You live alone don’t you?”

Jack blinked. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry Inspector, but you’re not well enough to be left unsupervised,” said the doctor. “I would be happy to discharge you if I knew you would have someone with you, but I am not prepared to do so knowing you’d be alone.”

It was something that Jack hadn’t thought of, but of course the doctor was quite right. If he were to go home, he would have no one to help him, and the fact was he still needed help with most things. Dressing. Cleaning himself. Cooking. And if he left the hospital he would be quite alone. He could feel his cheeks starting to redden and he looked away from the doctor, frustrated and more than a little embarrassed.

Doctor Landry took a step closer to Jack’s bed. “Do you have family nearby who you could stay with? You mentioned a sister?”

Jack shook his head, still not looking at the doctor. “She lives in Brisbane.” _And has a family of her own to take care of._

“Well, you’re certainly not well enough to make that trip, and I assume she’ll not be able to come to you?” Said the doctor.

“No.”

The doctor paused for a moment before continuing. “There is a convalescent home north of the city, you might be more comfortable there while you continue your recovery.”

Jack finally looked back at the doctor, a little disbelieving. “A convalescent home,” he said flatly.

“It wouldn’t be for another few days but... yes, it’s something we should discuss,” said the doctor. “You’re right when you say you don’t need to be in the hospital anymore, and we are going to have to start looking for an alternative.”

Jack just nodded, and the doctor said his goodbyes and left him alone to wish he’d not said a word. _A convalescent home_. The worst thing was that Jack understood the reasoning - the doctor was right, he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself if he were to go home, and he felt like a fool for not considering the difficulties before bringing it up with the doctor. It was just… Jack didn’t like convalescent homes. He’d visited enough of them after the war, seeing old mates who had been broken by the fighting and he just… well, he hated the idea of staying in one. He knew it wasn’t the same, but his mind still revolted at the idea. But what was the alternative? He couldn’t stay in the hospital forever, taking up space in a private room (and he still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to swing a private room in the first place). He didn’t need to be there anymore, and the bottom line was that, given how his condition was incompatible with his lifestyle, he was going to have to get over his reservations.

He didn’t mention the conversation with the doctor to any of his visitors, and tried his best not to let his increasing melancholy show. It was difficult though - not only the thought of being in a convalescent home for who knows how long, but the added reminder of just how his life had turned out. He was alone.

Doctor Landry raised the subject again a few days later, and agreed with Jack that he would make arrangements for him to be moved within the week. The home the doctor had in mind was called St Leonard’s, and was operated by the St Leonard’s convent in the north of the city. Jack was far from thrilled at the thought of a convalescent home run by nuns, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue - what would be the point?

It was towards the end of this conversation that Jack heard the tell-tale click of Phryne’s heels in the hallway outside, and a moment later she swept into the room.

“Good morning J- oh, I’m sorry doctor.” She smiled between Jack and the doctor and took a step back. “I’ll wait outside.”

Doctor Landry gave Phryne a beaming smile that made Jack want to roll his eyes. “That’s alright Miss Fisher, I was just leaving,” he said.

“I hope everything is alright?” Phryne said, walking further into the room.

“Fine, yes,” said the doctor. And then, before Jack could say anything to stop him: “we were just finalising plans for the Inspector’s release.”

“Release?” Phryne repeated. She turned to look at Jack, her eyes shining. “You’re finally going home?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Not quite.”

There was a moment’s silence, in which Jack could feel both Phryne and the doctor looking at him, waiting for him to explain, but when he didn’t say anything further, Landry spoke up.

“The Inspector isn’t quite up to being home just yet, but he no longer needs to be in hospital, so we’ve arranged for him to be moved to St Leonard’s Convalescent Home until he’s recovered,” he explained to Phryne.

Phryne’s eyebrows shot up. “St Leonard’s?” She asked. She glanced at Jack. “Sounds… religious.”

“Yes, it’s run by the St Leonard’s convent,” said the doctor.

“Why can’t he just go home?” Phryne asked.

“The Inspector isn’t well enough to be alone just yet.”

“Oh!” Phryne exclaimed, looking away and nodding as she realised the situation. Jack braced himself for an awkward silence, but Phryne was already speaking. “Oh, well, Jack - just come and stay with me.”

Of all the things Jack had imagined she’d say, _that_ was the very last.

“What?” He said incredulously. “No - I couldn’t.”

“No, it would be perfect!” Phryne said, waving her hand. “No need to bother the nuns, you’ll come to Wardlow.”

Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

Jack’s head was spinning. He couldn’t _stay with Phryne_. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the offer, but she was clearly just offering out of a sense of… what? Charity? No, that was unkind - she had proven over the past weeks that she was truly his friend, but _this_ was beyond friendship. This was… he couldn’t allow her to take care of him, as though he was a member of her family, or as if they were - it was highly inappropriate.

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Phryne said cheerfully, cutting into his thoughts. “Now that Dot and Hugh have moved out I have three spare bedrooms - besides, I’m sure Mr B would much prefer having you on hand to fret over in person. It’s been very hard on him, fretting from afar.”

Jack paused. He’d actually forgotten about Mr Butler - of course, if he stayed with Phryne it wouldn’t be _her_ that would be looking after him in the day to day, would it? It would be her staff. But even so, no, it wasn’t their job to look after him.

“No,” he said firmly. “Thank you for the offer, but I couldn’t.”

Phryne huffed and folded her arms. “Jack, honestly, it would be no trouble,” she said. “I would love to have you there. You would be far more comfortable at Wardlow than you would in a convent!”

From what Jack remembered of her house, that was almost certainly true. But that wasn’t the point.

“It’s not a- I need to have specialist care, isn’t that right doctor?” Jack said, giving Landry a sharp look.

Landry looked thoughtful. “Well… you would need to see a doctor at least twice a week to monitor your progress,” he said.

Jack nodded. “Yes, so-”

“But I’m sure we could arrange something.”

Landry just smiled in response to Jack’s glare.

“Mac will do it,” said Phryne happily. “She’s at mine at least twice a week anyway, and it would save her the trip out to visit you - same for me.”

Jack shook his head again. “It’s not just - this is…”

“You know Inspector, I think you might truly be better off,” said the doctor. Jack stared at him, and he nodded. “We’ve spoken about how familiar surroundings might help your memory.” The doctor looked at Phryne. “I assume he has been to your home before, Miss Fisher?”

“Many times,” she said. “Right, that settles it. When can he be released?”

“I’d be happy to discharge him this afternoon.”

“In that case I’ll head back and let Mr B know to expect you,” said Phryne, walking over to his bedside table. “We’ll go to your house and pack some things for you as well - your keys are in here, aren’t they?” She pulled open the drawer as she spoke and snatched up his house key from among his personal effects.

She turned to the doctor. “What time?”

“Three?” Said Landry.

“Perfect,” she said, “see you later!”

And with that, she was gone.

Jack blinked. “What just happened?”

Doctor Landry laughed. “I believe you’re escaping my clutches, Inspector.”

“And going straight into Miss Fisher’s.” Jack sighed and rubbed his bristly chin with his good hand. He looked at the doctor. “Do you really think it will help my memory, staying at her house?”

“I think it will do more for you than going to an unfamiliar convalescent home, certainly,” said Landry. “Even if nothing comes of it for your memory, it is still closer to your usual life than the home would be - which will help you transition back to working and living at home once you are recovered physically.”

Personally, Jack wouldn’t describe Phryne’s lifestyle as remotely close to his own, but he allowed that the doctor was probably right that it was closer than staying in a convent. Also, it _would_ make it easier for his visitors to reach him, since all of them with the possible exception of Collins were objects in Phryne’s orbit.

And, well, if it did help his memory… he thought he had resigned himself to the idea of not recovering any of his memories, but the moment Doctor Landry had mentioned that the move to Phryne’s house might help him recover them he had felt a fierce hope. So, clearly, he wasn’t as resigned as he thought.

He sighed, knowing that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He needed to focus on his physical injuries. One thing at a time.

One thing at a time.


	9. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the huge delay in posting this. I have been ABSURDLY busy the last few months and still am, but decided that I really needed to find a few hours to update this... so here I am posting at 1am. 
> 
> This chapter is very short and nothing really happens, but I promise that it's relevant to the future of the story, so it needed to be done. I will try to get the next chapter up soon, but I really can't make promises. Thank you for the messages and reviews and I'm sorry again for the delay!

Jack’s home was exactly as Phryne had imagined it. It was simple, classic, and welcoming. The flower beds that lined the path and the front of the one-storey house were a riot of colour, and the door and windows were painted a smart, dark green. An iron gate led round to the back of the house, and Phryne could see a wooden bike shed just on the other side of the gate, nestled up against the side wall of the house. She could so easily imagine Jack here - tending the garden, taking his bike out for a ride, opening the front door… 

 

Except he wasn’t there to open the front door. The bike in the shed hadn’t been touched in weeks. The grass was overgrown and the flowerbeds needed weeding. The windows were dark. Everything that Phryne looked at was a reminder that Jack hadn’t been home for a long time. 

 

“Are you alright, Miss?” 

 

Phryne blinked and gave Dot a smile. “Yes, sorry, just having a look,” she said, before pushing open the front gate and walking up the short garden path. She unlocked the door with the key she’d taken from Jack’s hospital room, squared her shoulders, and pushed it open. The door got stuck on something before it could open the entire way. When Phryne stepped inside, she saw that there were rather a lot of letters piled up on the doormat, which were preventing the door from opening properly. 

 

Phryne’s eyes caught on the letters, and she stopped in the hallway, unable to go any further. 

 

Dot and Mr Butler stepped into the house as well, crowding behind her, and Phryne quickly stepped over the pile of letters to let them past, before closing the door behind them. She couldn’t quite meet their eyes. 

 

“Dorothy and I will gather together everything that the Inspector might need, Miss,” said Mr Butler. 

 

Phryne nodded, and managed a smile. “Yes, thank you - don’t worry if anything is forgotten, we can always come back,” she said. 

 

Mr Butler and Dot both nodded and disappeared into the house, leaving Phryne alone in the hallway with the pile of letters. She turned her back on them and took a few steps further into the house. The small hallway opened up into a lounge. An open door led to the kitchen, and another hallway led to the rest of the house. Phryne walked slowly into the lounge, her eyes scanning the room to catalogue every detail. She could see Jack everywhere - the overflowing bookshelves against the wall, the winged armchair by the fireplace, the chessboard on the sideboard. The Complete Works of Shakespeare was on a small table next to the armchair, with a bookmark in it. Phryne picked it up and opened it to the marked page - it was  _ The Tempest _ . She snapped it shut again and put the book back down. 

 

She walked over to the kitchen doorway and peered inside - it was a small room but serviceable, with a sturdy wooden table in the middle of it. A chopping board was out, a potato half-peeled on top it, and a pan sat on top of the stove. The potato had gone dark brown. Phryne could just picture the scene - Jack preparing his dinner, the phone ringing, him grabbing his hat and hurrying out without knowing that he wouldn’t be back to tidy up. 

 

Phryne took a deep breath and turned away again. It was hard being here, far harder than she’d expected. She’d fallen into something of a groove with Jack over the past few weeks, and while it was still painful to think of all that he’d -  _ they’d _ \- lost, it had become easier to concentrate on helping him recover. She’d been able to see him grow stronger physically everyday, and though she probably had little to do with it, it made her feel that she was helping somehow. Here though, standing in Jack’s cold and empty house surrounded by reminders of who he should be, she could feel the pain she’d felt when she’d first returned coming back to her. 

 

He still didn’t remember - Mac said that his memories could come back at any time, and every day Phryne arrived at the hospital hoping that something had changed overnight, but nothing ever did. She wondered, sometimes, whether she should say something - whether she should tell him that he had been planning to come to London after her, that they had become…something. Maybe it would trigger something in him. Maybe she should just kiss him and see if that would do the trick. 

 

She wouldn’t, of course. Couldn’t. Jack didn’t need her trying to force him to remember his feelings for her; he needed to concentrate on his recovery. She was doing everything she could to help him with that, and that would have to be enough for her. 

 

Phryne shook herself and strode back to the hallway, bending to scoop up the letters on the floor and starting to sort them into a neat pile. She would bring them to Wardlow, she decided - there might be something important, and she didn’t want Jack to miss something. She paused as her hand closed over a small yellow envelope, marked as a long-distance telegram. Her fingers tightened on the envelope for a moment, before she quickly flipped through the rest of the letters - it was the only one. Which meant that it was from her. 

 

She tipped her head back and took a deep breath. She imagined what Jack would think if he read this telegram. She would have to explain that it was a reply, and that would lead to what had been his telegram. He would know about his plans, she would tell him about what had happened before she left and maybe he would… 

 

She sighed, and looked down at the telegram again. No. It wouldn’t be fair to pressure him like that. She could be there for Jack, but only as a friend, and confusing him like that wasn’t the act of a friend. 

 

Phryne separated the telegram from the rest of the letters and stared at it, wondering what to do. Should she throw it away? Take it with her and hide it somewhere? She was still thinking when she heard Dot and Mr Butler come back into the lounge behind her, and she quickly reached out and placed the telegram on the hallway table. 

 

She turned around and smiled as Dot and Mr Butler reached the hallway. Mr Butler was carrying two small suitcases. 

 

“All ready to go?” She asked brightly. 

 

“Yes miss,” said Dot. “Would you like me to take those?” 

 

Phryne smiled and handed her the letters, then opened the front door and held it open for the others. 

 

“Right, let’s go and get our patient, shall we?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this was meant to be a paragraph or two at the start of a much longer chapter. It ended up being 2000 words. At that rate the chapter would have ended up about 8000 words long, so after consultation with the lovely ladies on Slack I've decided to split it. 
> 
> If you think nothing much happens, bear in mind what I said about intending this to be a couple of paragraphs. I have no control.

All in all, it took almost two hours to move Jack from his hospital room to Phryne’s largest guest bedroom. The University Hospital was only a twenty minute drive from Wardlow, but first they needed to pack up his room (they donated the flowers and left the wireless, as promised), then they needed to receive instructions for medication and check-ups from the doctor, and finally needed to track down a wheelchair from another part of the hospital and convince Jack to get into it. 

 

Dot was packing up the room with ruthless efficiency, so Phryne appointed herself as in charge of Jack, which mostly meant ignoring him while getting him ready. 

 

“You really do not need to go to all this trouble, Phryne.” 

 

“Here Jack, we brought your dressing gown: no need to get fully dressed but you’ll feel more comfortable wearing it for the journey.” 

 

“Phryne, really, I can just go to the convalescent home.” 

 

“There, much better. Ah, and here’s the chair.” 

 

“I don’t want to impose on you like this.” 

 

“We won’t bother with the blanket now, but we’ll keep it on hand for in the car.” 

 

“Phryne…”

 

“Ah! Doctor! What do you have for us?” 

 

He did, eventually, stop protesting, and thanked the nurses and doctors who had come to see him off sincerely if not particularly cheerfully. Two burly porters carried the wheelchair down the flight of stairs to the ground floor (Jack did protest that, adamant he could manage the stairs, but the porters had him downstairs too quick for him to make the attempt). Mac met them at the bottom of the stairs and said she would accompany them back to the house, to keep an eye on Jack. Phryne expected another protest, but if anything she’d say that Jack looked relieved at her offer. 

 

She did her best not to feel jealous about that. 

 

There was a ramp for wheelchairs at the front of the hospital, so they were able to meet Cec and Bert without any attempts of walking from Jack. Phryne had decided to take pity on Jack’s currently fragile constitution and called in the boys to help transport Jack rather than drive him herself in the Hispano. Besides, their cab was larger and would be more comfortable. 

 

Cec and Bert greeted Jack cheerfully. Jack was out of the wheelchair the second the cab door opened, clearly worried someone was going to attempt to carry him into the car as well, but Phryne noticed he leant heavily on the car’s frame as he stepped inside and settled on the backseat. He pursed his lips when Phryne handed him the blanket she’d been carrying, and very deliberately placed it on the seat next to him instead of using it properly. Phryne raised an eyebrow but before she could say anything the door on the other side of the cab swung open and Mac clambered inside. She tsked when she saw the blanket on the seat. 

 

“You’re going to need this,” she said, picking it up and shaking it out. 

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Jack said grumpily - Mac ignored him and tucked the blanket into place over his legs. 

 

Phryne stepped back. “I’ll see you at the house,” she said. Jack and Mac were too busy bickering about the blanket to pay her any mind, so she closed the door and turned to Bert, who was leaning against the hood. 

 

“Drive carefully,” she told him. 

 

Bert raised an eyebrow. “Bit rich isn’t it, miss, coming from you?” 

 

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him. “I am always careful, thank you very much,” she said primly. Bert just smirked. 

 

Cec was helping Dot load Jack’s luggage into the back of the Hispano, and once it was in place she and her companion climbed into the car themselves. Phryne glanced back at the cab in her mirrors, feeling a pang of disappointment that she wasn’t travelling with Jack but… well, this was best. They couldn’t all fit into the one car, and anyway it made sense for Mac to stay with Jack, in case he took a turn during the journey. 

 

Phryne started the car and pulled away from the curb before she could give that particular worry anymore thought. 

 

They made it back to Wardlow within seventeen minutes, and Mr Butler came out to see to Jack’s things from the hospital. Dot helped him, and Phryne found herself standing on the pavement outside the house staring down the road they’d arrived by. It was ridiculous, of course, and she shook herself after a moment and went inside. She followed the voices up the stairs to the largest guest bedroom. 

 

Considering how little time Mr Butler had had to ready the room, Phryne had to be impressed by the thorough job he’d made of it. The bed was made up with extra pillows and a dark blue doona, turned down ready for Jack’s arrival. She recognised an armchair and footstool from the study downstairs, set in front of the fireplace. There was also a tall side table from the parlour, which Phryne could see would be the perfect height for Jack while he was sitting in the armchair. The dressing table was laid out with bottles, combs and shaving accessories that must have been collected from Jack’s house, and she assumed the wardrobe was now host to Jack’s clothes. As Phryne watched, Mr Butler began to place the bits and bobs from Jack’s hospital room all around the bedroom. 

 

“Mr B you really are a marvel,” said Phryne. 

 

“Thank you, miss,” said Mr Butler with a smile. “I have spoken to Mr Higgins, by the way, and arrangements are made. They will start work the day after tomorrow.” 

 

“Excellent! How long do they expect it to take?” 

 

“The end of the week at the latest, miss.” 

 

Phryne nodded. “Thank you, Mr B,” she said. “Well, I’ll go downstairs and wait for our guest to arrive.” 

 

There was still no sign of the cab, but Phryne told herself not to worry. She knew that Bert, for all his sarcasm, would be driving carefully, and even if he wasn’t she would have had at least five minutes on them at their usual pace… plus they hadn’t even been ready to leave by the time she’d gone… No reason to worry at all. 

 

Instead, she found herself dwelling on what the doctor had said, that being in a familiar place might help to bring back Jack’s memories. Surely Wardlow was familiar to Jack? He was there often enough, knew her staff and family, had his own place to lean in the parlour… perhaps he might actually regain his memories when he arrived. Perhaps it would be enough. 

 

Phryne’s mind had wandered to an imagined moment of Jack walking through her doorway and staggering as the weight of his returning memories bombarded him, triggered by the sight of her standing at the bottom of the staircase, when she heard the distinctive hum of the cab’s engine just before the car itself came into view. Phryne sprang up from the window seat of the parlour and hurried to open the front door. 

 

Cec, Bert and Mac all opened their doors and climbed out, and Mac hurried round to the other side of the car to Jack’s door, which Cec was opening - Phryne recognised the look of concern on her friend’s face, and hurried down the front steps and over to the cab, fear making her throat constrict. 

 

Jack was sitting up, facing the open door. He was pale, and his eyes were closed, but Phryne couldn’t see anything overtly wrong with him. She placed a hand on Mac’s shoulder, and her friend answered her unspoken question. 

 

“It’s the light, and being outside and moving,” she said. “It’s brought on dizziness and some pain.” 

 

“It’s just a headache, I’ll be alright,” Jack said, opening his eyes and looking up at them both. His eyes flickered away from Phryne to look over her shoulder at the house, and then he looked back down again. “I might need a hand getting up though.” 

 

“Allow me, Inspector.” 

 

Mr Butler had followed Phryne out of the house, and now she and Mac made room for him as he bent down and helped Jack from the cab. Jack blinked in surprise at the new face and voice, but accepted the man’s help without complaint. Once he was upright, Mr Butler gripped Jack’s arm from underneath, and supported him as he made his way through the gate. 

 

He was walking very slowly. 

 

“Is he alright?” Phryne asked Mac quietly. 

 

“He will be,” Mac said. “It’s more exertion than he’s had in a long while, and he hasn’t even got to the stairs yet.”

 

Phryne frowned. She’d known Jack wouldn’t be able to just go up and down the stairs whenever he felt like it (hence her arrangements with Mr Higgins) but she hadn’t realised he would be this weak after just a car ride. “Should we set him up a bed downstairs for tonight?” 

 

Mac thought about it, her eyes on Jack’s back. “No,” she said slowly. “It’s probably best to just get him situated instead of having him exert himself twice in a short period. But we’ll see how he does with the staircase and keep that as an option.” 

 

Phryne thanked Cec and Bert for their help, and then followed Jack and Mr Butler up the path to the house. When they reached the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the front door, Phryne hurried forward and took Jack’s other arm. He didn’t lean on her very much, but he didn’t try to protest either. 

 

It took them over five minutes to reach just the top of the steps. Mac followed them up behind Jack, ready to catch him if he lost his balance, and talking to him soothingly about his breathing and taking the steps as slowly as he could. Dot opened the front door for them once they reached the top step, and they paused for a moment before crossing the threshold. Jack swayed on the spot, and staggered slightly into Phryne, who put her arm around his waist to steady him. She stared at him intently, remembering what she had been imagining of him regaining his memories just minutes earlier, but after a moment he blinked and stood up straight again, mumbling an apology before moving forwards into the house. 

 

Phryne bit back a sigh and sternly told herself to concentrate on the task at hand. 

 

The stairs in the house were shallower than those outside, but there were an awful lot of them for someone in Jack’s condition, and by the time they reached the top - some twenty minutes later - Jack was sweating, and pale, and leaning heavily on both Phryne and Mr Butler.  

 

“Not far now, Inspector,” said Mr Butler cheerfully as they finally gained the first floor landing. Jack didn’t reply. 

 

Jack was trembling slightly when they finally made it into the room and to the bed, and groaned softly as they helped him sit down. Mac hurried forward and began to examine him, pressing her hand to his chest, feeling his forehead and looking into his eyes. Jack’s colour started to return a little as he sat there, and Phryne felt the knot in her stomach loosen slightly at the sight. 

 

“You’ll be alright after some rest,” Mac said, confirming Phryne’s thoughts. “But you’re going to need to stay in bed for at least a day.” 

 

Jack huffed a quiet breath. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” he said. 

 

Mr Butler hurried forward and helped Jack remove his dressing gown and slippers before encouraging him to lie back. Jack sank down into the pillows and sighed as Mr Butler covered him over with the doona. 

 

Jack’s eyes were already closing, but they found Phryne’s. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

 

He was sound asleep before she could even smile in reply. 

 


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the delay - though they're getting shorter at least! Hope you enjoy this one, it's looooooong...

During his long stay at the hospital, Jack had gotten somewhat used to ignoring strange noises, doors opening and closing, cars driving by at all times sometimes with sirens blaring, and even people touching him while he was trying to sleep. But now, as he drifted into consciousness, it felt different. There were no footsteps, no distant voices. He heard a car go by but only the one. It wasn’t silent, but it was far quieter than usual. And he was comfortable - aching, as he usually did these days, but the bed was soft and the sheets felt like silk against his hands, nothing like the starched linen of his hospital bed. He turned his head, feeling the softness of the pillowcase beneath his cheek. Phryne had probably brought silk sheets for his bed or some such nonsense. 

 

_ Phryne.  _

 

Jack’s eyes shot open. 

 

The room was gloomy, but Jack could clearly see sunlight peeking round the edges of the heavy curtains to his right so it had to be daytime. He couldn’t see a clock and he wasn’t wearing a watch, but from the way he felt he guessed he’d been asleep for some time. His head felt heavy, but not from a need to sleep, more the general background heaviness he’d felt since his injury. His shoulder was hurting, as were his legs. He remembered how difficult it had been for him to climb the stairs when he’d arrived, and realised with a stab of shame that he was feeling the after-effects of that simple task. Phryne had had to practically carry him up the last few steps. 

 

He was still very unsure of the wisdom of his staying in Phryne’s house. She clearly made her own way with very little attention paid to what anyone thought of her, but surely it would raise eyebrows to have an unmarried man that she wasn’t related to staying with her in her home. He really didn’t want to make things complicated for her… or, if he was honest, for himself. He didn’t remember the new Commissioner, so had no idea how he would react to the news that one of his Inspectors was convalescing in the home of a lady of high society, but he knew that the previous Commissioner wouldn’t have been thrilled by it. 

 

Jack sighed, and tried to ignore his misgivings. The fact of the matter was that, for the moment, he had no choice. Phryne was insistent on having him stay with her, and it wasn’t like he had the strength to make a break for it himself, even if he wanted to. And really, lying in the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in, he wasn’t entirely sure he did. 

 

He was just wondering whether he should try getting up to find a bathroom and see if anyone was around, when there was a brisk knock on the door. It opened a moment later, and Mr Butler stepped in. Jack recognised him, from meeting him briefly when he’d first come to the house all those months before, and from when he’d arrived the day before (or so he assumed since he still wasn’t entirely sure what time it was). He hadn’t been in any state to greet him properly upon his arrival, and felt ashamed of that now. 

 

“Good morning, Inspector,” said Mr Butler cheerfully. “How are you feeling today?” 

 

“I - well enough, thank you Mr Butler,” Jack said. He cleared his throat awkwardly as the man crossed the room to the windows and flung back the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, and Jack squinted. It had already been the afternoon when they’d left the hospital, so it  _ had _ to be the next day. 

 

“You slept through the night, sir,” said Mr Butler, answering Jack’s unanswered question as he approached Jack again. “It’s just after eleven o’clock.” 

 

Jack’s eyebrows shot up - he must have been asleep for almost eighteen hours. No wonder he felt so hungry. His stomach rumbled as he thought it, and Mr Butler smiled. 

 

“You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m preparing a breakfast tray,” he said, helping Jack to sit up in the bed. 

 

“Thank you,” said Jack, settling back against the extra pillows Mr Butler propped up behind him. “And - thank you for everything you did for me while I was in the hospital,” he added. “I’m very grateful.” 

 

Mr Butler smiled again. “Of course, Inspector,” he said, matter-of-factly. His expression grew more serious. “I’m very glad that you’re recovering so well. I hope you don’t mind my saying sir, I was extremely worried.” 

 

Jack swallowed. “Thank you.” 

 

Mr Butler nodded. “Mrs Collins and I collected some clothing and other belongings from your home, and it has been put away for you, though I imagine you will want to stay in pyjamas for the next day or two at least,” he said. “This room has an en suite bathroom through that door, there are fresh towels in there. Will you be requiring any assistance, sir?” 

 

Jack had been looking at the bathroom door, wondering just how many bathrooms Phryne’s house had for her guest room to have an en suite, when Mr Butler’s question registered with him. He realised what the man was asking, and felt the back of his neck heating up. 

 

“Er, no,” he said. “That is - perhaps a hand getting out of the bed, but other than that I should be fine.” 

 

Mr Butler nodded. “Very good, sir,” he said, stepping forward at once. Jack swung his legs out of bed and stood up, leaning a little on Mr Butler’s hands under his good arm, but was relieved to find that though his legs ached they were steady enough under him. 

 

“I’ll go and see to your breakfast, sir,” Mr Butler said, and then he was gone. Jack made his way slowly to the bathroom door, more aware with every aching step that yesterday’s exertions had clearly pushed his still-healing body to the limit, and he needed to be careful. He bit back a sigh. 

 

The bathroom was modern, clean, and bigger than his kitchen. Jack shook his head and relieved himself, washed his hands and face, and made his way back into the bedroom. He leant against the bathroom’s door frame and examined the room properly. The room was large and elegantly furnished. The bed had a beautifully carved, walnut frame, and was piled high with pillows and a silk doona. A wardrobe and chest of drawers matched the bed, as did its side tables, a dressing table and a full length mirror in the corner. The drapes at the window were a deep blue and reached the floor, which was carpeted. A Persian rug lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

 

These were the details Jack took in at first glance. Then, he looked closely at the armchair and table in front of the fireplace, and noticed that they didn’t match any of the other furniture in the room, leading him to assume they’d been moved in there for his use. He noticed a book on the bedside table away from the door - even at a distance he recognised it as his copy of Milton’s  _ Paradise Lost _ , which he’d kept next to his bed for the nights that he couldn’t get to sleep. His own dressing gown was hanging from the back of the bedroom door, and his slippers sat by the foot of the bed. His hairbrush, comb and pomade from home sat on the dressing table. He remembered what Mr Butler had said, and was sure that if he opened the wardrobe he’d find a selection of his clothes. 

 

Jack sighed and headed back towards the bed, only to stop and look at the chair instead. He hadn’t sat in a chair since his injury - he didn’t want to push himself but… surely a  _ chair _ wouldn’t hurt? He put on his slippers and retrieved his dressing gown from the door, before shuffling round to the armchair and easing himself into it with a sigh. The door opened moments later, and Mr Butler walked in carrying a tray. Jack’s stomach immediately rumbled again. 

 

Mr Butler didn’t seem fazed to see Jack wasn’t back in bed, and placed the tray in front of him on the table without comment. There was sausage, egg, bacon, potatoes, fresh toast with a selection of jams, a plate of fruit, and a tall glass of orange juice. All of the food had already been cut into easily manageable bites. 

 

“Mr Butler, you are a godsend,” Jack said, already reaching for his fork. “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure, sir,” said Mr Butler. “Perhaps you would like a bath after you have eaten?” 

 

Jack’s mouth was full at this point, so it took him a moment to answer. “After nothing but sponge baths in hospital, that sounds heavenly.” 

 

“I’ll draw it for you.”

 

“Oh, no, you don’t -” Jack swallowed down his food and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean, thank you but you don’t - you don’t have to…” Jack trailed off. Saying  _ wait on me _ sounded condescending in his head, he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. It was one thing to bring him food, when he couldn’t get downstairs himself, but he was perfectly capable of getting to the bathroom. 

 

Mr Butler seemed to understand what Jack was thinking. “Inspector, it’s in all our interests for you to recover your strength as quickly as possible - please, allow me to do all I can to assist you with that,” he said. “Enjoy your breakfast; I will draw you a bath.”

 

Jack could do nothing but stammer his thanks again and continue eating. 

 

The food really was very good. 

 

Mr Butler was in the bathroom several minutes, and when he returned Jack was starting on the toast. 

 

“Is Miss Fisher at home?” Jack asked. He realised that this was probably the longest he’d gone without seeing Phryne since she’d started visiting him, which was a odd thing to think about. 

 

Mr Butler shook his head. “No sir, Miss Fisher and Mrs Collins left on an errand about an hour ago,” he told Jack. “She will be back later this afternoon.” 

 

Jack nodded and returned to his breakfast, trying not to feel disappointed. It was ridiculous - he was staying in her house, for heaven’s sake, that was more than enough; he didn’t need her spending all her time at his bedside too. Lord knows she’d done enough of that already. 

 

Once he was done with the food, Jack followed Mr Butler into the bathroom. The room was filled with a citrus-scented steam, and the man had laid out fresh towels beside the bath, along with a flannel and soap. A wooden chair had been moved from the corner and now stood right next to the tub. Jack inhaled deeply, already imagining sinking into the welcoming embrace of the water, but he was brought up short by the realisation of another obstacle. And the reason why Mr Butler had followed him into the room. 

 

He sighed and turned to the butler. “I might need some help, Mr Butler,” he said. 

 

Mr Butler stepped forward and reached for the buttons on his pyjama shirt. Jack stared at the wall over his shoulder, wishing that he were anywhere else. It felt so much worse than having the nurses at the hospital help him - he still couldn’t get past the the idea that this just  _ wasn’t his job _ . He shouldn’t have agreed to come to Phryne’s house - now poor Mr Butler was stuck helping him dress and undress for who knew how long. 

 

Mr Butler might not be a valet but he certainly moved with the proficiency of one, and carefully helped to ease the shirt over Jack’s injured shoulder. He placed the shirt in a hamper near the door and turned back to Jack. 

 

“Do you need any further assistance, sir?” Asked Mr Butler. Jack hesitated. He didn’t need any help with the rest of his clothes, but he was a little unsure of how he would do with getting into the bath itself. But the thought of asking Mr Butler to actually help him into the tub was just unbearable. 

 

“No, thank you,” said Jack, not quite looking at him. “But thank you for your help.” 

 

“Of course, sir.” Mr Butler nodded and then left the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. 

 

Jack pushed off the rest of his clothing and then turned back to the tub, hoping that he wasn’t wrong about getting into it by himself, when he realised that the position of the chair meant that it was perfectly placed for him to lean on for support to step into the tub. Jack glanced towards the door, wondering if Mr Butler had done it on purpose, and concluding that it was probably a happy coincidence. 

 

The bath really was heavenly, and even with the annoyance of needing to keep his plastered arm out of the water Jack felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. He also felt cleaner than he had in weeks - he just wished that he could wash his hair properly and get rid of his beard, but between bandages and not having the use of his right hand that was going to have to wait. 

 

He could happily have spent an hour in the bath, but after about ten minutes of lying there he could feel himself starting to drift away again. He’d slept for almost an entire day, but he still felt like he needed to sleep more. Jack sighed and reached for the soap, washing himself off as best as he could before carefully climbing back out of the bath. Towelling off took twice as long as usual, and he could feel himself getting more exhausted with every movement. Jack wrapped the towel around his waist and, holding it closed with his good hand, walked wearily back into the bedroom to find that Mr Butler had laid out a fresh set of pyjamas on the bed for him, and had made and turned down the bed covers. Jack tugged on the bottoms and the shirt, didn’t bother with attempting the buttons, crawled back into the bed and fell back into an exhausted sleep. 

 

***

 

When Jack woke up again, the quiet tranquility of the morning had been replaced by the sounds of footsteps, voices calling to each other, the occasional scraping sound, and a consistent banging. Jack frowned and lifted his head from the pillow, surveying the room. The curtains were still open, letting light in, but it was considerably less bright than earlier, leading Jack to conclude it was late afternoon… the question was whether he’d slept a few hours, or a whole day again. 

 

Before he could ponder it further, there was a sharp knock on the door. 

 

“Jack, it’s me - may I come in?” 

 

Jack’s eyes widened at the sound of Phryne’s voice, and his first thought was that it was odd of her to ask for permission. Then again, despite her… temerity… she’d always been respectful of his boundaries, so he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He cleared his throat and called out “yes”, and it was only as he was struggling to sit up that he realised his pyjama shirt was still unbuttoned. 

 

“I - um,” Jack stammered, quickly grabbing hold of the front of this shirt with his left hand. 

 

“Hello, Jack,” Phryne said as she breezed into the room. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“Um, fine, thank you,” said Jack, hoping that she hadn’t noticed his state of undress. “A little tired.” 

 

“That’s understandable,” said Phryne. She sat down on the edge of his bed and, without a word about it, reached out to start buttoning up his shirt, from the top downwards. Jack dropped his hand resignedly and bit back an embarrassed groan. 

 

“I’m sorry about the noise,” Phryne said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “I’m having some work done on one of the other bedrooms.” 

 

Jack swallowed. “Oh?”

 

“Yes, I’m converting it into a library.” 

 

“A library?” 

 

“Yes - I’ve been thinking about it for some time, and there’s no time like the present,” said Phryne, finishing the last button with a flourish and leaning back. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with it.” 

 

Jack frowned. “Help you?” 

 

“Yes - I consider myself widely read, but you put me to shame,” Phryne said, her eyes twinkling. “Dot and I spent the morning scouring book shops for interesting titles, and I have some lists of more general collections to go through - perhaps you can look them over for me?” 

 

Jack paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Phryne’s open, innocent expression - a little too innocent if you asked him. The timing of this renovation was incredibly suspicious, but what was Jack going to do about it? Accuse her of deciding to convert a room in her house into a library for his own entertainment? And even if that turned out to be true (which was not guaranteed to be the case), would she cancel it if he made a fuss? And would he even want to stop her? He was going to be trapped upstairs for some time - a library would certainly be a more pleasant place to spend his time than laid up in bed like the past few months. Besides, he knew enough of Phryne Fisher to know that she never did anything she didn’t want to, so even if the change was somehow inspired by his presence in the house, telling her not to do it would achieve nothing. 

 

“I’d be happy to,” he said. 

 

Phryne smiled brightly. “Excellent,” she said, standing up. “It’s getting on - I thought we could have an early supper together in here, if you didn’t mind hosting me.”

 

Jack’s lips twitched. “I believe I could be gracious enough to host you for supper, yes,” he said. 

 

Phryne’s smile widened. “I’ll tell Mr Butler,” she said. “Do you need help getting up?” 

 

Jack thought about saying no, but what was left of his dignity had fled when she’d started buttoning up his shirt for him. 

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said. 

 

Phryne helped him out of bed with a firm hand under his elbow, and then fetched his dressing gown for him and helped him on with it before leaving the room. 

 

Mr Butler brought in an extra chair for the small table by the fire, and Jack and Phryne sat and ate a delicious roast while going over the lists of secondhand books Phryne had received from various shops. Jack advised her as best he could on what he deemed to be ‘essentials’ for any book collection, and also on what kind of deals she should be looking to get. He wondered if they had discussed books much in the past - Phryne was indeed very well-read, and discussion of titles soon led into a discussion of the books themselves, and Jack was enjoying himself immensely. 

 

Far too soon, though, Jack could feel himself becoming fatigued again, and though he tried to hide it Phryne noticed almost straight away, and within five minutes Mr Butler was on hand to help him get ready for bed. Jack was too tired to protest. 

 

And so it continued for a few days. Jack was less exhausted after another good night’s sleep, but still very tired. Mr Butler was always on hand to help him dress or with tea or delicious meals, to the point where Jack began to suspect the man had some kind of omniscience. Jack never saw Phryne in the morning, but she usually sat with him for a couple of hours in the afternoon, and she ate supper with him in his room. Mac joined them one night - that was a bit of a tight fit, but a fun evening. Collins still visited before work - apparently he’d come by that first morning, but Jack had been out for the count - and stayed for a few minutes before heading into the station. And all the while Jack could hear the sounds of the library being assembled. He stuck his head out into the corridor a couple of times, and found that the room being converted was almost directly opposite his own, and he saw several different workmen dressed in white overalls, carrying pieces of shelving and cans of paint and various pieces of furniture, and then boxes of books. Clearly, when one had the money to spend on them, renovations happened quickly. 

 

This proved to be the case, as when Jack awoke on the third full day he was there, he was told by Mr Butler over breakfast that the library was ready. 

 

“I thought that you might like to get dressed today, Inspector,” suggested Mr Butler. Jack had been thinking the exact same thing, and didn’t even pretend to be surprised that Mr Butler had guessed as much. The man really was prescient. 

 

“I would very much enjoy that, yes,” said Jack. 

 

Mr Butler nodded. “I also thought you might like a shave, sir,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of laying out your shaving things in the bathroom, and I would be happy to assist you.” 

 

And so Jack found himself, barely an hour later, clean-shaven and dressed for the first time since his accident. Mr Butler had even unwound the last bandages from his head, for which Jack was extremely grateful. His head felt disconcertingly light without the familiar weight of the bandages, but he didn’t need them anymore - his stitches were healing nicely and the hair on the back of his head was growing back after being shaved for surgery. Jack’s hands kept running over the stubble and the scar tissue he could feel, and he only hoped his hair would grow quicker now the bandages were gone. 

 

He wasn’t wearing a full suit, and he didn’t bother with pomade, but still he felt more like himself than he had since waking up in the hospital. 

 

And he wanted to leave the room. 

 

“Perhaps you would like some tea in the library, Inspector?” 

 

Jack had suspected that Mr Butler’s attention to his appearance and the readiness of the library were not a coincidence, and the man’s casual suggestion wasn’t lost on him. Still, he smiled and agreed, and Mr. Butler left him to go and get the tea. 

 

The library was smaller than the guest room, but still a decent size. There was room for two winged armchairs in front of the fireplace with a low table between them. A compact writing desk stood in one corner, and a small chaise had been placed in front of the window. The room had been painted a rich, deep green - which was a secondary detail, as almost every inch of the room’s walls were obscured by dark wooden bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling. Jack noticed a small set of wooden steps in a far corner. 

 

Phryne had told him that she’d wanted secondhand books in order to create a sense of homeliness, feeling that brand new books would feel superficial, and looking around Jack could see that she’d been right. The books were in good condition, but had clearly used before, and it gave the room a feeling of familiarity and welcome. Jack stepped inside and breathed in the scent of paint, wood varnish and the printed word, and felt his spirits lift further - it had been so long since he’d been anywhere except a room he could sleep in. 

 

Jack went from bookcase to bookcase, smiling as he took in the familiar titles, many of which he had recommended. The books appeared to be grouped by basic topics or formats - a bookcase of poetry, a bookcase of plays, a bookcase of law books, shelves of ethnographies, biographies, history books, atlases, forensic techniques. He stopped at the bookcase closest to the window. This one held a far more eclectic collection of books - the covers were mismatched, the sizes were different. Again they were grouped, but seemed to have nothing to do with each other, but as he looked down the shelves he realised that this case was for the household. This bookcase held the favourite books of the people who lived in the house. One shelf held a mismatched collection of murder mystery novels - he guessed those were probably Phryne’s. The shelf below held a collection of novels that Jack should technically arrest someone for. He shook his head with a smile - those were  _ definitely  _ Phryne’s. There was a collection of dress making pattern books which he assumed were for Mrs Collins, and a couple of novels about Hollywood actors that looked as though they were only a couple of steps up from penny dreadfuls. There were books on ancient civilisations which Jack guessed were for Jane, given what Phryne had told him about the girl, and a collection of P.G. Wodehouse’s  _ Jeeves _ stories which he assumed were either a favourite of Mr Butler’s or meant to be a joke aimed at him. And below those - Jack froze. 

 

Below those were a complete set of Zane Grey novels. 

 

It wasn’t so much that Phryne had bought a set of Zane Grey books - to be honest, he probably should have expected as much - it was that she had placed them on the bookcase with her household’s books. With her own books and her family’s. 

 

One day, maybe, he would understand why Phryne was doing everything she was doing for him. Until then, he was just going to continue to be awed. And he was going to re-read  _ Riders of the Purple Sage _ . Which was where Phryne found him an hour later, settled in one of the armchairs with a cup of tea beside him. 

 

She paused in the doorway, her eyes roving over his face. Jack waited silently for her usual bright smile, or a quip about it being about time he shaved, but instead she took the sight in silently, before giving him a soft smile. 

 

“Hello, Jack.”

 

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he replied. Phryne gave him an odd look, and he realised what he’d said. “Sorry, Phryne.”

 

“You don’t-” Phryne stopped herself and shook her head when Jack raised an enquiring eyebrow. 

 

She cleared her throat and stepped into the room properly. “May I join you?” 

 

Jack smiled. “Please do.”  

 

***

 

_ Do you have a personal interest in this case Miss Fisher - not at all although I briefly owned - twenty minutes before Saul Michaels arrived - I didn’t pick you as a Gilbert and Sullivan fan Inspector - I briefly owned - let’s not make a habit of it - a personal interest in this case - didn’t pick you as - twenty minutes - Miss Fisher - personal interest - _

 

Jack’s eyes flew open, and he blinked rapidly, staring into the darkness of the room. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, except that his head was hurting. He thought he might have been dreaming but… no, he didn’t remember anything. He rolled over, and slipped back into a dreamless sleep. 

 

TBC

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update inside of a month? WHAT? Craziness. 
> 
> NB I wrote this in under 3 hours and it's late and I want to sleep and so I haven't proofread it properly. I will do so tomorrow and wince at all the errors and then change it and hope no one noticed.

Having Jack in the house was… frustrating. 

 

It was wonderful, of course, that he was out of the hospital, and it was lovely to be able to take care of him in the comfort of her own home. Phryne didn’t regret offering to have him stay for a single moment, she really didn’t. But… well. He didn’t seem to be making all that much progress, and she was a big enough person to admit that she had pinned a lot of hope on him regaining his memory because of the familiar environs of Wardlow. 

 

Nothing had happened on that front. It had been nearly a week and he hadn’t remembered a single thing. 

 

It was worth noting that he hadn’t actually seen anything familiar in her house as of yet - so far all of his time had been spent in either the spare bedroom (which she couldn’t remember him ever setting foot in before) or the library (which of course was new), so she hadn’t  _ lost  _ her vain hope that he would have a sudden flash of memory - but that would mean him coming downstairs. 

 

Or into her bedroom. But she wasn’t going to attempt to lure him in there - not in his current state of body and of mind. 

 

The problem was, Jack showed no sign of wanting to attempt the stairs any time soon. He seemed perfectly content to sit in the library poring his way through her new book collection, retiring to his room in the afternoon for a nap. Mr Butler kept him well-supplied in tea, sandwiches and drop scones, and Phryne had joined him for dinner almost every evening. 

 

On the fourth evening, she had suggested that he come downstairs for dinner, and Jack had immediately begged off - apologising profusely and making it very clear that he understood if she wanted to eat downstairs without him. She hadn’t mentioned it again. 

 

Phryne knew that he needed time to properly recover physically, and that she shouldn’t try to rush him in that just because she wanted to work on his mental recovery, but it was difficult, and she found herself having to bite her tongue on several occasions. When she had first found him reading in the library, clean-shaven and fully-dressed and looking so much like her Jack that she had felt it like a punch to the gut, it had taken everything in her to linger in the doorway rather than go to him. When he had called her Miss Fisher, she’d thought for a wild moment that he... but no. It was just a slip, his natural politeness coming through. Just because he looked more like his old self these days didn’t mean that he was back to his old self. 

 

Quite frankly, frustrating barely covered it. 

 

Phryne had started spending more time out of the house, throwing herself into catching up with her Melbourne friends and updating her wardrobe. She still made time to sit with Jack every day though, no matter how frustrating it might be. 

 

She had just returned from a luncheon and was talking to Dot in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and Mr Butler left them to answer it. Phryne was dimly aware of quiet voices in the hallway before Mr Butler returned and cleared his throat. 

 

“Miss Rosie Sanderson to see you, Miss Fisher,” he said. 

 

Phryne froze. 

 

“I have shown her into the parlour.” 

 

Phryne blinked, and nodded. “Yes, thank you Mr B,” she said. “I - perhaps some tea?” 

 

“Yes, miss.” 

 

Phryne nodded again and headed towards the parlour.  _ Rosie _ . Rosie hadn’t visited Jack in the hospital, hadn’t been in touch with him at all as far as Phryne knew. She hadn’t really thought of her at all since what had happened to Jack - but she found her mind was racing now. This Jack was a Jack without any memory of the past year and a half - as far as he was concerned, Rosie was his  _ wife _ . He knew about their divorce, knew about Sidney and what had happened to George Sanderson, but he didn’t  _ remember  _ it. What if… what if Jack, without that time and memory to distance himself, what if he still had feelings for Rosie? What if Rosie, after all that had happened in her personal life, had rediscovered her feelings for Jack? Phryne had no claim on Jack whatsoever, other than friendship, she knew that if something rekindled between them she wouldn’t be able to… she’d have to just watch it happen.   

 

_ A marriage is still a marriage.  _

 

Phryne paused before stepping out of the dining room, and took a deep breath. Then, she squared her shoulders and walked briskly across the hall. 

 

Rosie was standing by the fireplace, her hands folded in front of her and her shoulders tense. Phryne took a moment to take in her appearance - she was dressed well, if a little conservatively, and her hair and makeup were just as perfect as she remembered. Her posture was the only thing about her that indicated she wasn’t completely at her ease, and it was enough to snap Phryne out of her own thoughts. Well, enough, anyway. 

 

“Rosie!” She said with a wide smile, walking into the parlour. “How lovely to see you - how are you?” 

 

Rosie turned to face Phryne, looking more flustered than Phryne had ever seen her. “Miss F - Phryne, hello,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to visit you without warning.” 

 

She looked and sounded unspeakably awkward, and Phryne’s misgivings eroded even more. It couldn’t have been easy for Rosie to come here - the last time they’d seen each other Phryne had just been instrumental in exposing her father and fiance’s criminal exploits and watched her break down in tears. For a woman as strong as Rosie, that must sting. 

 

Phryne gave her a softer, more genuine smile, and gestured for Rosie to take a seat. “You’re welcome anytime,” she said as they both sat down. “I imagine you’re here to see Jack?” 

 

Rosie swallowed. “So… it’s true then?” She said. “He’s here?” 

 

Phryne nodded. “Yes, he’s upstairs,” she said. 

 

Rosie nodded as well. “I’ve been away,” she said. “In New Zealand, visiting family, I just got back to Australia two days ago and the first thing I heard was that Jack had been nearly killed in some kind of attack and - well, I came straight here.” 

 

Despite her feeling of gnawing panic, Phryne could appreciate that kind of loyalty, and she gave Rosie another smile. “He wasn’t attacked,” she said. “It was a freak accident during a raid on the docks. A criminal tried to make his escape and crashed into the wall next to Jack, and masonry fell down on him.” 

 

Rosie’s eyes were wide with horror - Phryne pressed on. “He was in a coma for five days, they had to do surgery to release the pressure on his brain-”

 

“Is he - I’m sorry - is he alright? I was told he was recovering…”

 

“He is. Yes, he’s alright. He’s still weak from the head injury but he’s… recovering. But there’s been some memory loss?” 

 

“Memory loss?” 

 

“Yes - he’s lost the last eighteen months or so. Everything before that is fine, but… nothing recent.” 

 

Rosie was looking pale. “So he… he must think that we’re still…” 

 

Phryne shook her head. “He knows about… the status of your relationship. And what happened with…”

 

“With father.” Rosie’s eyes hardened and she looked away for a moment. “But he doesn’t remember it?” 

 

“I’m afraid not.” 

 

“It’s probably for the best.” 

 

There was a moment of silence, before Phryne got to her feet. “Shall I take you upstairs? I’m sure he’s in the library.” 

 

***

 

The stairs were taunting him. 

 

For a few days, Jack had felt fairly positive about his progress. He was able to read for hours without his head aching, and as long as he took it slowly he didn’t feel too dizzy getting in and out of bed, or standing up from chairs. His shoulder was aching and he still had very limited use of his right arm and hand, but he was feeling stronger. And when he looked in the mirror he saw himself, not an invalid he barely recognised. 

 

But the stairs. 

 

He knew he was being a coward, but he couldn’t bring himself to attempt them again. He kept thinking about how much they had exhausted him when he’d arrived, how he’d had to be practically carried up them by Phryne and Mr Butler. He knew that it was irrational, that that had been days ago and he was stronger now, but… well, it was still _only_ _days_ ago, it wasn’t as though a huge amount of time had passed. And he just couldn’t stand the idea of going downstairs and then having to rely on others to get him up them again. 

 

He hadn’t been thinking about it at all until Phryne had asked him the other day if he’d like to join her for dinner downstairs, and it had sent him into something of a tailspin. She hadn’t asked again, clearly noting how panicked he’d been at the suggestion, but that didn’t make him feel better. Of course Phryne wanted to get him downstairs - at the moment she was stuck with eating dinner with him in his bedroom every evening. He thought about telling her not to join him, but he knew she wouldn’t take the suggestion… and besides, he liked having her to keep him company. 

 

And so the stairs continued to taunt him every time he made the short walk from his bedroom to the library. 

 

The library had become his refuge, as he was sure had been Phryne’s intention. He could hardly fault her for it though, when it made his days so much more enjoyable and comfortable. He made his way there after breakfast each morning, and usually had a light lunch brought to him by Mr Butler around noon. Phryne was usually out during the day, though Jack had heard her return not long ago, and was sure she’d come to see him soon. She was reliable in that way. 

 

Sure enough, he soon heard footsteps on the stairs, and he placed a marker in his book and looked up expectantly at the door. Phryne appeared after a minute, and gave him a smile, though she looked rather… odd. 

 

“Hello Jack,” she said brightly - too brightly. “You have a visitor.” 

 

And before Jack had a chance to even wonder, she stepped aside to reveal his wife. 

 

_ Former wife _ . 

 

“Rosie.” 

 

“Jack,” she breathed out, before hurrying into the room to his side. “Oh Jack, what have you got yourself into?” 

 

Jack stared at her, his mind racing as quickly as his heart. Rosie was crouching next to him, her hand on his left arm, looking up at him with concern written all over her face and it was… utterly confusing. The last time he’d seen her - the last time that he remembered - she’d come to collect the last of her things and it had been awkward and stilted and, well, a little bitter, and he’d had a healthy nightcap after she’d left. 

 

And now…

 

“Mr B will bring some tea.” 

 

Jack and Rosie both snapped their heads back to Phryne, only to see her disappearing out of view. A large part of Jack wish that she’d stayed. 

 

Rosie dropped her hand from his arm and sat back on the coffee table next to his chair. She cleared her throat nervously. “I’m… I’m glad you’re alright Jack.” 

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I… it’s good to see you.” 

 

Rosie gave him a small smile. “How are you feeling?” 

 

“Better than I was,” Jack said truthfully. “It took a while before I was strong enough to get out of bed, or walk. I only got dressed for the first time a few days ago.” 

 

Rosie winced. At that moment Mr Butler stepped into the room with a silver tray, and Rosie moved from the table to the other armchair so that he could set down the tray and pour them both a drink. He’d also provided a plate of biscuits, and once he was done he left them alone and closed the door behind him. 

 

Rosie was staring down at Jack’s right hand, where you could see his plaster cast under the loose sleeve of his cardigan. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come.” 

 

“You don’t…” Jack stopped and sighed. “You’ve no obligation Rosie.” 

 

Rosie gave him a sad look. “We’re still friends, Jack. I still care about you. Though… Miss Fisher mentioned that you might not remember that.” 

 

It took a moment for Jack to swallow the lump in his throat. “I could never forget how much I care about you, Rosie,” he said softly. 

 

Rosie smiled. “I was in New Zealand,” she said after a moment of loaded silence.

 

“Visiting Charlie?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“How is she?” 

 

“Getting married again.” 

 

Jack snorted. Rosie’s cousin Charlie had been married three times and engaged three times more. She’d moved to Auckland with her second husband, ten years earlier. 

 

“I got back two days ago, and I heard what had happened to you so… I came as soon as I could.” 

 

“I really do appreciate it.” 

 

“Though I see you’ve been well looked after.” 

 

There was another moment of loaded silence. Jack had guessed, from the context of what he’d been told, that Rosie had met Phryne several times, but unlike everyone else he’d been in contact with since his accident, Rosie wasn’t… part of Phryne’s  _ orbit _ . It was astonishing, now he came to think of it, how wholly he’d been surrounded by Phryne’s people these past few months. Even Collins was hers now, in his own way. 

 

Rosie, though, she was outside of it all. And lord knows how it looked to someone on the outside. 

 

Rosie gave him a rueful smile. “I’m glad you haven’t been alone,” she said. 

 

Jack raised his eyebrows, surprised. Rosie clearly read his expression perfectly, because she shrugged as she reached for tea. 

 

“Miss Fisher was never going to leave you to fend for yourself,” she said. 

 

“Yes, I’ve come to realise as much,” he said. “Though from my perspective we’d only known each other a few weeks.” 

 

Rosie tilted her head. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. She paused. “Are you - are you happy here? If you feel uncomfortable I’m sure that we could -” 

 

“No, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Really - Phryne’s been nothing but kind to me, she’s done so much for me, but she’s not - she’s-” 

 

Rosie nodded again, smiling. “Good,” she said. “I had to ask.” 

 

Jack nodded as well, pondering his reaction. A part of him was gratified to hear her voice concern for him, to offer to - well, who knew what she was going to offer - because the last time he’d seen Rosie he couldn’t imagine them being in that kind of place. But his overriding feeling had been panic - as happy as he was to see Rosie, he couldn’t imagine spending a lot of time with her. He certainly couldn’t imagine being  _ dependent  _ on her. Even now, with just a few words, he could see that any help she would offer him would me out of a sense of duty or… compassion. It felt different with Phryne. She’d never made him feel like a burden. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t felt that way sometimes, but not because of her. 

 

He couldn’t say the same for Rosie. 

 

“Are your memories coming back at all?” Rosie asked after a moment. 

 

“No, not yet,” Jack said. “The doctors say that they might but… well, it’s been months and there’s been nothing so far. I’m just concentrating on recovering physically.” 

 

Rosie nodded. “Well, I hope you remember,” she said. “I like who you had become.” 

 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Well…” Rosie smiled. “I told you once that you had gotten your fight back. I think that’s a good way of putting it.” 

 

***

 

Phryne closed the parlour doors when she got back downstairs, and spent the next ten minutes pacing back and forth across the room, her mind coming up with all sorts of scenarios for what was going on in the library. Jack and Rosie laughing over old times. Jack and Rosie reminiscing about the early days of their marriage. Jack and Rosie remembering that it was Rosie who used to take care of him, and perhaps that was what would be best now… 

 

She sat down and tried to read a book. She put it back down after a moment and moved to the window seat instead. The street was completely empty, and she started pacing again before too long. 

 

She heard movement on the stairs after about twenty minutes, and she took a deep breath, standing and smoothing down her skirts, before striding purposefully across the room to open the doors. Rosie was standing before them, looking as though she’d been about to knock. 

 

Phryne gave her a smile that any of her friends would see through in an instance. “Come in, have a seat,” she said. 

 

Rosie nodded, and the two of them sat down again, looking at each other in awkward silence for a minute, before Phryne couldn’t take it anymore. 

 

“How did you find him?” 

 

“He seems… well, considering,” Rosie said. “It sounds as thought it was very serious.” 

 

Phryne nods. “It was.” 

 

“Were you there? When it happened?” 

 

“No, I-” Phryne paused before continuing. “Actually, I was in England. I’d had to return on family business - I heard the news by telegram and… I came back.” 

 

Rosie stared at her in silence for a moments, before looking away at the wall. “I… I’ve never really understood your relationship with Jack,” she said slowly, sounding as though she were puzzling it out as she spoke. “He listens to you, more than he listens to anyone, more than he ever…” She took a deep breath. “I thought once or twice that you were lovers, but always dismissed the idea. But everything you’ve done for him, having him stay here with you when he doesn’t even remember you - I know it’s not my place to ask but -”

 

“We’re not,” Phryne said, before she could. “ Jack is one of my dearest friends.”

 

Rosie still looked puzzled. “But he doesn’t remember that.”

 

“No, but I do.” 

 

Rosie sat back slightly, and an indiscernible look graced her face. Phryne stayed silent, trying not to feel offended by anything Rosie had said. She hadn’t said anything unexpected - she was sure that everything she was doing did seem odd to an outside party - and of course Rosie was far from an  _ outside _ party. 

 

“You make me feel rather ashamed, Miss Fisher,” Rosie said after a moment. 

 

Phryne frowned. “Whatever for?”

 

Rosie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, before looking back up at Phryne with half defiant, half timid expression. “I don’t know if Jack ever told you anything about… about the end of our marriage…”

 

Not in as many words, but Phryne had definitely pieced together enough to know what she was getting at. “It’s not the same thing, not at all,” she said firmly. 

 

Rosie shook her head. “I should have tried harder,” she said. “I could have remembered for both of us.” 

 

Phryne shook her head. “No you couldn’t,” she said. “It’s not the same. War changes you. It’s not like losing memories - Jack is still Jack, he just has a few months missing. But war… it turns you into a different person. You see things, and do things, that change you forever.” 

 

Rosie stared at her in silence for a moment. “Were you there?” 

 

Phryne smiled sadly. “I was a nurse.” 

 

Rosie nodded. “Perhaps that’s why Jack connects with you,” she said. “You understand.” 

 

Phryne didn’t respond. She and Jack had never really spoken about their war experiences in any great detail, but Rosie was probably right - she did understand Jack, and she’d always felt that he understood her. 

 

“I said to you once that I thought you made things worse for Jack,” said Rosie after a moment. Phryne looked back at her, and Rosie sighed. “I’m sorry I said that. In truth I think he’s lucky to know you. And I’m glad he has you now.” 

 

Phryne couldn’t think of anything to say - she just reached out and squeezed Rosie’s hand. 

 

Rosie smiled and stood up. “I should go. I - I’m not staying in Melbourne, not yet anyway,” she said. “I’ll be in Ballarat for the next few weeks at least.” 

 

Phryne nodded. “You’re welcome here at any time,” she said. “Really.” 

 

Mr Butler appeared with Rosie’s hat, and Phryne showed her out. As she closed the front door behind her, she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders - Jack might not have his memories back, but he wasn’t moving backwards. And if he wasn’t moving backwards, perhaps he could move forwards. 

 

And perhaps she could be there with him. 

 

***

 

Phryne came upstairs to sit with Jack for an hour after Rosie left, but they didn’t talk about the visit. Instead they sat in companionable silence, reading their books and eating biscuits. Jack was still reeling from seeing Rosie, but more from how little he’d felt than from anything else. He still cared for her, and he would always regret what had happened to them, but his overwhelming feeling had been one of relief - relief that she wasn’t the one here to help him through this. 

 

Not that he thought Phryne was  _ replacing  _ Rosie, that would be - well, that was clearly not the case. But… well, he was just relieved, and that was that. 

 

Jack had a nap in the afternoon as usual, worn out from the emotional day, and when he woke up in the early evening he felt… wired. More full of restless energy than he had for a while. He opened the bedroom door, thinking he would go back to the library, and could smell whatever Mr Butler was cooking wafting up the stairs. He could hear Phryne talking to someone, and the sound of a gramophone playing. 

 

Jack paused in the middle of the hallway, staring at the top of the stairs. He turned towards the library door, and took a step before pausing again. What was it Rosie had said? That had had got his fight back? It didn’t feel like it right now. It hadn’t felt that way in months. 

 

He couldn’t remember what it was that had made him change, but he wanted it back. Perhaps he would never remember again, but… maybe he didn’t need to remember it exactly. Maybe he just needed to try. 

 

“This is such a bad idea,” he said under his breath, before turning around and heading down the hallway to the staircase. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellllll... 3 and half months later and here we are with chapter 12. This was like pulling teeth. I had terrible writer's block on this chapter for ages, and then it just took ages and ages to write once I had the inspiration. I will try to do better with the next chapter.

Phryne was just finishing a letter to her mother when the doorbell rang. She heard Mr Butler moving into the hallway and hoped that it wasn’t an urgent matter - it was almost dinner-time, and Phryne was looking forward to a quiet meal with Jack. There had been quite enough unexpected visitors for one day. 

 

The door was opened, and Phryne heard the unmistakable lilt of her aunt’s voice. She sighed and got to her feet, and moved towards the open parlour doors as Mr Butler opened them wider. 

 

“Mrs Stanley,” he announced, before stepping aside. 

 

Phryne gave her aunt a smile. “Aunt Prudence - this is unexpected,” she said, moving forward to greet her. “Is something wrong?” 

 

“Must something be wrong for me to visit my niece?” Asked Prudence airily, offering her cheek for a kiss. 

 

“No, but you don’t usually come calling just before dinner-time,” Phryne pointed out. She noted that her aunt appeared to be dressed for an evening out, and wondered for a moment if she had agreed to accompany her somewhere and forgotten about it. No, she was sure she hadn’t - she’d been turning down evening invitations lately, preferring to spend the time with Jack. 

 

“Yes, well, I am on my way to the Grangers’ spring soiree and you are on my way.” 

 

“Oh, is that this evening?” Phryne asked, gesturing for Prudence to take a seat and settling into her own armchair. “You look splendid, Aunt P.” 

 

Aunt Prudence raised an arched eyebrow. “And you look like you are not attending.” 

 

“I’m not,” said Phryne simply. “I turned down my invitation months ago.” 

 

Aunt Prudence huffed. “Because you were  _ supposed _ to be in England, girl, which everyone understood - however, I must tell you that it is harder to understand why you are still turning down invitations now that you have returned.” 

 

Phryne rolled her eyes. “You make it sound so dramatic, Aunt P,” she said. “I’m not living as a hermit. I had lunch with Sarah Forsyth and Una Hereward just today.” 

 

“Be that as it may, Phryne, people are starting to talk,” said Prudence. “I have held my tongue while you have spent the last weeks devoting yourself to the Inspector, but this isn’t merely a case of visiting him in hospital - he is  _ living in your house _ . I understand-” she said, holding up a hand to stop Phryne as she went to interrupt her, “I do, and I know there is nothing untoward about your generosity,  _ but  _ if you insist on missing the most important events of the social calendar to stay at home playing nursemaid, people  _ will _ start to talk.” 

 

Phryne pursed her lips. “Aunt Prudence, I appreciate your concern, but Jack needs me right now. I am not about to abandon him because some small-minded people cannot understand that.” 

 

Aunt Prudence didn’t look in the least bit abashed. “The talk might not bother  _ you _ , Phryne, but you should consider the Inspector’s position in this,” she said. “Some of those  _ small-minded people _ as you call them have considerable power in this city, and Inspector Robinson is beholden to them, whether you like it or not. I doubt he will thank you if when he recovers he finds he has no job to return to.” 

 

Phryne swallowed another angry retort. There was no use arguing with her aunt - Prudence was only trying to help in her characteristically blunt way. And she did, perhaps, have a point. Both she and Jack were public figures in their own ways and Jack, at least, needed to keep his reputation unblemished. His staying with her while he recovered from his injuries wasn’t a blemish, per se, but if tongues started wagging that could change. 

 

Damnit. She hated it when Aunt Prudence was right. 

 

Aunt Prudence smoothed down her shawl, clearly sensing her victory. “Theodora Leonard is holding a fundraising gala next Saturday,” she said. “Perhaps you could accompany me.” 

 

Phryne’s huff of annoyance was cut short by a sound in the hallway. It was footsteps - very slow footsteps. 

 

Phryne stood up slowly, staring at the parlour doors as they opened to reveal Jack. Phryne’s eyes widened in surprised, and Jack leant his good shoulder against the doorframe, meeting Phryne’s eye briefly before looking at Prudence. 

 

“Ah, Inspector,” said Prudence, as though his appearance in the parlour was a totally ordinary occurrence, and not something that Phryne had been waiting for for months. Looking at him leaning against the doorframe, she could almost believe that nothing had changed.

 

“Jack!” Phryne exclaimed happily, hurrying to his side. Up close, she immediately saw that he was pale, covered in a sheen of sweat, and clearly leaning on the doorframe out of exhaustion rather than his usual nonchalance, and her smile faded at once. 

 

Phryne put her arm around his back and helped him over to the chair she had vacated. “Come in, sit down. Are you alright?”

 

Jack nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Fine thank you,” he said, sounding a little faint. “I just thought it was time to attempt the stairs.”

 

Phryne couldn’t help a small smile, despite her worry at Jack’s obvious exhaustion - she was just so delighted that he’d made the choice to leave the library. “And how did you find the ordeal?” She asked him, trying to make light of his condition. 

 

“Not as gruelling as I’d feared, though I’m not much looking forward to going back up,” Jack said, sitting back in the chair and finally meeting her eyes. 

Phryne smiled again. “We’ll make sure you have a good meal in you before you make the attempt,” she said. 

 

Jack gave her a small smile in return, and then his eyes flicked past her to focus on her aunt. “I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs Stanley.”

“Not at all, Inspector, I’m glad to see you looking so well,” said Prudence, giving him a smile of her own. “The last time I saw you you did not look so hale, I can assure you.”

 

Jack frowned. “You - visited me in hospital?”

“Yes, I was there for a meeting of the board, so I paid you a visit with Doctor Macmillan,” Prudence said matter-of-factly. Phryne sank down into the armchair next to Jack, eyes on her aunt as she spoke to Jack. “They had you on a very crowded ward - of course I insisted that you were moved to a private room at once.” 

 

Phryne bit her bottom lip and glanced at Jack - he was blinking in surprise. “Thank you, Mrs Stanley,” he said after a moment.

 

Prudence just nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Well I had better be off, otherwise I will be late.” She stood up and fixed Phryne with a pointed look. “I will see you next Saturday, Phryne.”

 

“Yes Aunt P,” said Phryne, before standing up and following Prudence into the hallway. She kissed her aunt on the cheek and gave her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. “Thank you, Aunt P,” she whispered as she pulled away. Prudence gave her a knowing smile, and disappeared out of the front door.

 

Phryne took a deep breath after the door was closed. So it had been Aunt Prudence that had arranged Jack’s room - Phryne had always assumed that it was Mac, but had never got round to asking her. She smiled to herself; her aunt really was a dear, no matter how she tried to hide it. She turned back to her parlour doors, and took a moment to steady herself before going back in. It felt significant, somehow, that Jack was finally downstairs… downstairs somewhere that he would actually recognise. Somewhere familiar. Phryne told herself sternly not to get her hopes up, and stepped back into the parlour. 

 

Jack was frowning down at his knees. “You look rather bewildered, Jack,” Phryne said, sitting back down. 

Jack gave her a rueful smile. “Forgive me, it’s a little… no, bewildering is a good word for it.”

 

“I can imagine,” said Phryne. She thought about telling him that Prudence was actually quite fond of him despite her apparent brusqueness, but it didn’t really seem necessary - her actions spoke for themselves. They sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to the music that was playing from the gramophone in the corner, Jack with his eyes closed and Phryne watching him intently, pleased to see the colour slowly returning to his cheeks. After a minute or so he opened his eyes, looking a lot better, and gave her a slightly sheepish smile.   

 

“I have to say, I’m very happy to see you in my parlour again,” Phryne told him, privately thinking that she had become a master of the understatement. 

 

Jack looked amused. “I’m very happy to see it again,” he told her. 

 

Mr Butler, completely unfazed by the sight of Jack downstairs, appeared to announce that dinner was ready in the dining room. Phryne helped Jack up, but once he was on his feet he seemed alright, if a little slow as they made their way across the hallway. Phryne’s heart ached to see him so clearly affected by a simple walk down a staircase - he’d seemed so much better lately, it had been easy to forget just how much recovery was still ahead of him, even without the memory loss in the equation. 

 

Phryne was behind Jack as they went into the dining room, and so Jack reached the table first. Mr Butler had laid two settings - the usual two settings - and Phryne watched, her heart suddenly in her mouth, as Jack walked straight to his usual seat and stood behind it, waiting for her to pass him and take her own seat at the head of the table. She stood frozen by the dining room door, a dozen memories of Jack doing that exact thing in the past crowding before her eyes, and for a moment she could almost believe that nothing had changed. For a moment - a brief, wonderful moment - she thought that was it, Jack was finally starting to remember. Like the doctors had said, he’d just needed somewhere familiar, and now…

 

The moment didn’t last. Jack looked back round at her, obviously wondering why she’d stopped to stare at him, and Phryne realised she was being foolish. Of course he’d assume he’d sit there - this was her home, she would clearly sit at the head of the table. Also, he was exhausted and it was the closest chair.

 

Phryne squared her shoulders, drummed up a smile, and went to join him at the table. 

 

***

 

For Jack, mastering the stairs was simultaneously freeing and restricting. Having the choice to move around the rest of the house was wonderful; eating meals in the dining room, chatting with Mr Butler in the kitchen, listening to music in the parlour - they were all simple pleasures that went a long way towards making Jack feel that he was getting some sense of normality back. At the same time, however, every time he ventured down the stairs he was reminded of how much recovery was still ahead of him. It really did exhaust him, and if he tried to go faster than a shuffle his head started to spin. After his first, surprise trip down the staircase Phryne insisted on her or Mr Butler being on hand whenever he was going up or down; not to help him exactly, but to steady him if he needed it. 

 

He wanted to argue it wasn’t needed, but quite honestly it probably was. 

 

So yes, while it was technically progress, it was easy to think of it as a step back in some ways. However, Jack was sick of feeling sorry for himself, so he tried to make the most of his ability to use the stairs and pushed his frustration to the back of his mind. 

 

Being downstairs, Jack was able to observe the running of the Fisher household in more detail. Mr Butler was always up first. The Collinses would arrive fairly early, Collins escorting his wife to the house on his way to work. He would always stop for a cup of tea and whatever baked item Mr Butler or Mrs Collins had most recently made and, if Jack was awake, would find him to have a catch-up chat before heading to the station. Around the same time, Johnson and Yates would usually show up to scrounge food from Mr Butler before heading out for the day. Phryne would usually leave them messages about errands she wanted them to run, and they would often have small deliveries for her. Jack tried not to think too hard about what those items might be or where they’d come from. The lady of the house herself generally emerged late morning unless she had an early social engagement. She would have something light for breakfast and then usually headed out for luncheon or to visit friends, or to go shopping, often with Mrs Collins in tow. She would catch up on correspondence and rest before dinner, which she always ate with Jack either down in the dining room if he was downstairs, or up in his room. 

 

Jack had to admit that it was a far more pleasant routine than the one he’d had in the hospital. 

 

He was sitting in the dining room having breakfast almost a week after he’d first made the trek downstairs, when the Collinses arrived. As was usual, Collins came out of the kitchen to say hello, but that morning he didn’t sit down for a cup of tea. 

 

“Morning, Collins,” said Jack, eyeing the young man’s ready stance and the helmet still under his arm. “Busy day ahead?” 

 

“Er, yes sir,” he said. “Sorry I can’t stay, there was a body found last night and Sergeant Blythe wants me in early this morning.” 

 

“A body?” 

 

“It looks like an accident, but the deceased was a friend of the Commissioner’s wife, so-”

 

“Say no more, Collins,” Jack said ruefully. “You’d better be off.” 

 

“Yes sir, thank you,” Collins said. “Have a good day sir.” 

 

“You too, Collins.” 

 

Jack kept up the genial look on his face as Collins spun on his heel and went back into the kitchen, but let it drop when he was out of sight, sitting back in his chair and glaring down at his half-eaten breakfast. The conversation was yet another reminder that his ability to use stairs was a small victory. He’d been away from work for months now. He had leave until the new year, but it was already late November and it was hard for him to see how he’d be ready to go back in five weeks. He knew it was useless to think like this, knew that he actually  _ was  _ making progress even if it seemed interminable, but he was still getting headaches, dizzy spells and waves of fatigue several times a day. His broken collarbone was still healing, as was his hand, and he’d only just started physiotherapy sessions for his shoulder. He couldn’t go back to work yet; he wouldn’t be able to do his job properly, and he wasn’t going to return and not be able to do the job. 

 

Not that they needed him, of course. The station was doing just fine without him. 

 

It didn’t make Jack feel better. 

 

Jack had managed to get a handle on his melancholy by the time Phryne came downstairs, impeccably dressed and ready to take Mrs Collins out for her first driving lesson (Mrs Collins had been looking pale but determined for several days: Constable Collins was clearly in the dark). 

 

Phryne smiled brightly at Jack as she poured herself a glass of grapefruit juice. “Good morning, Jack,” she said cheerfully. “How are you feeling today?” 

 

“My shoulder is a bit stiff, but otherwise I’m fine.” 

 

Phryne frowned. “Have you been doing your exercises? Because Mac said -”

 

“ _ Yes  _ I’ve been doing my exercises,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t need to rat me out to Mac. Again.” 

 

Phryne gave him an unrepentant smirk, but whatever she might have said in reply was cut off by the sound of the back door swinging open and heavy footsteps. 

 

“Is Miss Fisher up yet?” They heard a loud voice demand. 

 

Phryne raised an eyebrow at Jack and put down her glass. “I’m in here, Bert,” she called out, and a moment later Johnson appeared in the doorway, Yates on his heels. 

 

“Miss Fisher, there’s been a murder,” Johnson said gravely. “We need your help.” 

 

*** 

 

Senior Sergeant Kenneth Blythe was polite enough, but not nearly as obliging at Jack in terms of providing access to crime scenes. Especially since he didn’t seem to think there was anything remotely fishy about the death. 

 

“Miss Fisher, the deceased was seventy-six years old and living alone, and was found at the bottom of her stairs. There was no sign of forced entry. I’m afraid that this was just a tragic accident.” 

 

“Which occurred just weeks after she, a very wealthy and not to mention extremely healthy and agile woman, cut almost her entire family out of her will? Which, surprise surprise, seems to have gone missing?” 

 

“Miss Fisher, I’m sorry, but there isn’t enough evidence of foul play for an active investigation. Now, please excuse me.” 

 

Phryne, of course, had other avenues of gathering information, and she soon had the both the crime scene photos (though Hugh hadn’t called them that) and the autopsy report. Mac concurred with Blythe, much to Phryne’s chagrin. 

 

“Phryne, I can’t rule out another person being involved, but there’s no evidence of it on her person,” she’d said, “and her injuries are consistent with a fall.” 

 

All in all, it was starting to look like it was, quite possibly, a very coincidental accident. It didn’t sit right with Phryne, it  _ definitely _ didn’t sit right with Cec and Bert, and there was something about the photos of the staircase that was bothering her. 

 

It was the morning after Cec and Bert had burst in with news of the death, and she was once again in her dining room, with the photos spread over the tabletop, glaring down at them as she tried to puzzle out what was bothering her. She was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. 

 

Jack was standing in the doorway watching her curiously. Phryne was surprised that she hadn’t heard him walking down the stairs, and hurried over to him. 

 

“Jack, you know you shouldn’t try the stairs alone,” she said, a little more scoldingly than she intended. Luckily Jack seemed too interested in the photos to mind her tone, and allowed her to guide him to chair. 

 

“Incident photos?” He said. 

 

“ _ Crime scene  _ photos,” Phryne corrected, taking the seat beside him. “Courtesy of Hugh.”

 

Jack picked up a photo of the victim, Mrs Georgina Norris, sprawled on the bottom step of her staircase, and shook his head. “Poor woman,” he said. He looked at Phryne. “What makes you so sure that it wasn’t an accident?” 

 

They’d gone over it a little the evening before, over dinner, but Jack had seemed tired and she hadn’t wanted to bother him too much with the case. Now, though, if he was asking…

 

“The timing, more than anything,” she said. “Cec and Bert met her less than two months ago when she had them drive her around her family and tell them to their faces that they were all disinherited. They’d gotten to know her a little since then and she mentioned that some of them had tried to contest it and had been rebuffed. Now she’s turned up dead, and her will has gone missing.”

 

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Certainly suspicious,” he said. 

 

“I’d hoped that Mac would find something, but everything is consistent with a simple fall.”

 

Phryne handed Jack the autopsy report and sat back as he flicked the folder open and started to read. It was such a familiar movement, such a familiar stance, it made her heart ache. She turned back to the photos, focusing on one of the entire staircase. Aside from the body and a smear of blood on a step about halfway down, there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

Something really was bothering her though. 

 

“Well I have to say that this so far reads like every report I’ve ever read on accidental falls.” Jack said after a moment. 

 

Phryne nodded, still frowning at the photograph. “I know,” she said. “She clearly fell down the stairs, and that’s what killed her.”

 

“Yes, fractures to the arms and legs, the shoulder and hip, t _ wo _ …” his voice trailed off and he frowned at the report. _ “Two lacerations to the head, consistent with blunt force trauma _ . That’s... odd.”

 

Phryne looked at him sharply. “Odd? Why?” 

 

“Just… it’s not impossible of course, but for her to hit her head twice with that much force she would have had to tumble head over feet all the way down, and you’d expect more impacts to the back if that were the case. And more blood on the steps from the impacts, since they were lacerations.”

 

“The blood!” Phryne said suddenly, seizing the photo that had been so bothering her. 

 

Jack looked up from the report. “What about it?”

 

“On the step,” she said, handing Jack the photograph. “There’s blood on only one step!”

 

Jack’s eyes raked over the photo and then over the others. “So she only hit her head once on the steps…”

 

“But there are  _ two _ lacerations, meaning that she must have been hit by something else!” 

 

Jack blinked, and then gave her a small smile. “Well done, Phryne,” he said. 

 

Phryne grinned. “That was a joint effort,” she said truthfully, “I’ve been staring at that photo for half an hour.”

 

Jack grinned back. 

 

Phryne jumped to her feet. “I’d better let Blythe know that he has a murder investigation on his hands!” She exclaimed. 

 

Jack caught Phryne’s wrist as she turned towards the door. She swayed on the spot, surprised by the sudden contact. His hand was warm. 

 

“Phryne, this isn’t enough for Blythe to re-classify the death by itself - he likes cold hard facts, this is speculation. Well-reasoned and almost certainly correct, but speculation.”

 

Phryne opened her mouth to let Jack know that she could handle Blythe, but he carried on. 

 

“Go over his head,” he said. 

 

Phryne was surprised he’d suggest such a thing, and she frowned. “What - the Deputy Commissioner?”

 

“Higher.”

 

“The Commissioner?”

 

Jack smiled. “Higher,” he said. “Collins mentioned that the deceased was a friend of the Commissioner’s wife.” 

 

Phryne stared at him for a moment before starting to smile. “You know, I believe she frequents the Grenvale Club - perhaps I’ll go there for luncheon.” 

 

Jack let go over her wrist, his smile knowing and…  _ fond.  _ It made Phryne’s heart twist, and she impulsively leant down to peck him on the cheek. 

 

“Thank you, Jack,” she said, before pulling away and hurrying for her front door before she did something stupid like start crying on him. 

 

She had a murder to solve. 

 

***

 

Phryne had the case re-classified by the end of the day, and had identified the culprit from among the victim’s myriad disgruntled relatives within 36 hours. After his early moment of assistance there was very little that Jack could do to help with the investigation, but he was nevertheless buoyed by the fact that he’d done  _ something _ . 

 

It helped to be reminded that he was still up to the mental requirements of his job, if not the physical ones. 

 

On Saturday evening he was downstairs, reading a book in the parlour while listening to the gramophone. Phryne was going to a gala of some sort, and obviously felt very guilty to be abandoning him for the evening. He’d repeatedly assured her that he was perfectly capable of eating dinner without her company, but he’d still seen the reluctance in her face as she’d gone upstairs to get ready. 

 

Just before seven, he heard her light footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later she swept into the parlour, preceded by a cloud of French perfume. Jack froze. 

 

Phryne was beautiful - given what close company they’d been keeping the last few weeks he could hardly have failed to notice as much, and besides, he’d already known that anyway. Everybody knew that. He’d even seen her dressed up before - he remembered seeing her at Mrs Andrews’ house when he’d gone to arrest Mrs Collins, during that party. 

 

Now though, now that he was used to seeing her dressed casually - fashionably, yes, but far more casually -  _ this _ was a bit of a shock to the system. 

 

The dress was blue, or purple, or was it black? Jack couldn’t tell, and found himself staring at the silky fabric where it clung to Phryne’s hips. The dress fell straight to the floor, and the neckline was high, but from the way it fit her curves no one could call the dress conservative. She wore a glittering silver headband over her glossy hair, and diamonds were dangling from her ears. 

 

She was simply exquisite. 

 

Phryne didn’t seem to have noticed Jack’s reaction to her appearance, as she was busy fiddling with something in her silver clutch bag as she walked into the room, and already speaking to him. 

 

“I really am sorry about this Jack but Aunt Prudence will disown me if I don’t show myself tonight,” she said. 

 

Jack swallowed and, with an effort, got his dumbfounded expression under control. 

 

“I don’t mind at all,” he said. He was pleased to note his voice sounded normal at least. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.” 

 

“I’m sure I won’t,” Phryne said ruefully, turning to check her lipstick in the mirror on the wall. The dress was backless, with crisscrossing strands of glittering black beads linking the two sides of it together. 

 

Jack swallowed again. Hard. 

 

“Well,” Phryne said, raising an eyebrow at her reflection and spinning back round, “I must be off.” 

 

Jack cleared his throat. “Have a good evening,” he said. 

 

Mr Butler appeared to help Phryne on with a fur wrap, and with a last smile she swept out of the house. 

 

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour, Inspector.”

 

“Thank you Mr Butler.” 

 

Jack spent the next half an hour trying to concentrate on his book and not the memory of Phryne’s bare back in that dress. He shook his head, smiling ruefully. He’d been cooped up in that house for too long - it was hardly surprising that he’d reacted that way. The dress had clearly been designed to have that effect on others, and Phryne would probably have found it deeply amusing if she’d caught him staring at her. Next time, of course, he would be far more prepared for the sight of her dressed to the nines. 

 

***

 

_ The room was hazy with smoke and dim, except for a small area at the front of the room lit brightly by stage lamps. There, in front of a screen, was a woman, the pink feathers of two oversized fans doing little to conceal how little she was wearing. Her back was to him, the bare expanse of it pale and lithe and smooth, her swaying hips almost hypnotic in their movements. Then she turned, and her knowing eyes met his for just a moment before she raised her chin and swept her arms into the air.  _

 

Jack’s eyes flew open and he jerked his head forward on the pillow, shock coursing through his body. It was dark, still the middle of the night by the look of it, and he was in bed, his body hot and not a little bothered. 

 

A dream. It was only a dream, he told himself firmly, resting his head back against the pillow and taking several deep breaths. 

 

_ A dream about Phryne doing a fan dance.  _

 

Jack stared guiltily up at the dark ceiling as he waited for his racing heart to slow down. How was he going to face her in the morning? 

  
  



	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the delay - RL is very very busy for me at the moment. I received a lot of messages along the lines of 'please don't abandon this story' and rest assured I won't - just don't expect weekly updates or anything, sorry.   
> This chapter was supposed to be double this but I've decided to split it in half, so apologies again because tbh not much happens! I know, I'm selling it too hard. Enjoy!

Jack didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night. Every time he closed his eyes he was back in the dream, so real he could almost smell the cigarette smoke, so instead he lay awake, staring into the shadowy recesses of his room. His comfortable, opulent, carefully-tailored bedroom, provided for him by a woman who had been nothing but selfless and caring towards him for many weeks, who he was now… who he had… 

 

He had dreamt about her dancing practically naked. What was  _ the matter  _ with him? 

 

Jack was furious with himself. Was he really so shallow that one instance of seeing Phryne dressed up was enough to turn him into a slobbering caveman? It wasn’t so much that he had dreamt about Phryne that was so disconcerting, it was that he’d dreamt of her  _ dancing half naked _ . He’d never… he’d never been that kind of… that is to say he’d never seen the appeal of that kind of performance. He’d never been to those kinds of clubs, unless it was in the line of duty, and he’d never understood the drive of the men who did. If he was going to look at a naked woman, he wanted to do so in a far more intimate setting than a club crowded with other men. 

 

Besides, he didn’t think of Phryne that way - or at least he didn’t think he did. Of course she was attractive, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, but that didn’t mean he wanted to… to...

 

She was his friend. She’d proved that over and over in a myriad of different ways, and thinking her in this way, even if it was subconsciously, made him feel like a lech. 

 

Phryne wasn’t downstairs for breakfast the next day, much to Jack’s relief, and he retreated upstairs to the library as quickly as possible. He told himself he was concentrating on the book he was reading, but he was hyper-aware when Phryne woke up just after noon, and was once again relieved when she didn’t seek him out before leaving the house for whatever she had planned for that day. 

 

Even his relief was a double-edged sword though, as the very feeling of being relieved made him feel guilty. He didn’t want to start avoiding Phryne - she didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of this nonsense. She certainly didn’t need to know anything about his subconscious’ sudden need to objectify her. 

 

And so Jack spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate on his book, trying not to think of his dream, and trying not to feel nervous about facing Phryne that evening. It wasn’t as though they ever talked about their dreams, there was no reason for it to come up. It was only awkward if Jack made it awkward. 

 

This, thankfully, turned out to be the case. Phryne breezed into the library in the evening and cheerfully asked Jack how his day had been. Jack found himself responding to her easy manner, and relaxed further as she told him about the gala, and about her trip to the House of Fleuri that afternoon to commission some new evening gowns for future occasions. By the time he went to bed that night he was able to dismiss the memory of his dream as unimportant and not worth dwelling on. 

 

It was just a silly dream. 

 

_ The room is bright, opulent, perfumed. She enters through the open double doors at the end of the room, and the crowd seems to part for her. She is smiling, radiant. There is applause, and her eyes flick to his just before she turns. He is in her house, at the foot of the stairs, and she is smiling at him again. She turns and his eyes rake over her back, covered in strands of glittering beads, contrasting sharply with the creamy white of her skin.   _

 

***

 

Jack seriously considered feigning a headache and hiding in his room the next day, but he firmly told himself that acting like a coward wasn’t going to solve anything. 

 

Besides, Phryne would have Mac round within two seconds if he said his head hurt. 

 

So, clearly his subconscious hadn’t quite gotten over the sight of Phryne dressed to the nines. This second dream wasn’t nearly as bad as the first - there’d been no nudity at least - but Jack couldn’t pretend that it was entirely innocent. His dream self had been practically drooling at the sight of her in that dress, and on the stairs… he’d actually thought he was going to follow her, and if he had...

 

Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Jack was appalled with himself. 

 

As always, Phryne spent most of the morning in bed, and swept into the dining room while Jack was eating a sandwich for lunch. She was dressed to go out, in pale blue crepe trousers and a silky silver blouse, a sunhat in hand. Jack took a moment to make sure his face was blank before he looked up at her properly, and found that she’d made her way over to his chair. 

 

“Good morning, Jack!” 

 

“Good afternoon, Phryne,” he returned. 

 

Phryne smiled unapologetically. “Barely,” she said. She was standing next to him by now, and Jack dropped his eyes back to his lunch. It was one thing to have a normal conversation, it was another to have a normal conversation with her so close that if he turned his head he would be staring right at her… chest. 

 

“I’ve heard from Jane - her ship should be arriving at the end of next week,” Phryne was saying while Jack focused on his sandwich. “She’ll wire when she gets to Sydney, she’ll have a better idea of her arrival time then.” 

 

There was silence, and Jack glanced up to see that Phryne was watching him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer. Jack blinked. “Oh, that’s good news,” he said, hoping against hope that Phryne couldn’t see the blush he definitely felt creeping up his neck. “It will be nice to see Miss Ross again.” 

 

Phryne helped herself to half his sandwich and leant back against the table. “Yes, France really is too far away,” Phryne said musingly, before taking a bite of the sandwich. “Of course, it’s done her the world of good. She’s practically fluent in French now, and has made lots of friends.” 

 

Jack was barely listening. He was furious with himself again - honestly, she was doing nothing but leaning back against the dining table, she wasn’t even really looking at him as she talked, but she might as well have been sitting on his lap for the way he was reacting. He could feel her body heat, the air was clouded with her perfume, and he was acutely aware of her every move. She was too close. 

 

“Anyway,” Phryne said, putting the half-eaten sandwich back on his plate, “I’d best be off. Sorry to dash but I will see you for dinner, yes?” 

 

Jack cleared his throat and managed a very swift, very small smile. “Yes, see you later.” 

 

Phryne was gone with a cheery wave, leaving Jack staring at the sandwich she’d returned to his plate, and the smudge of red lipstick on the bread. 

 

***

_ She is close enough that he can feel the heat from her leg through his sleeve where his arm is resting on the top of his desk. Everytime she shifts her white skirts brush against him. He keeps his eyes on his papers, but feels the movement when she crosses her leg over the other - his eyes dart to her and fall on the smooth, bare skin of her legs, exposed by the drape of her skirt. His fingers tighten on his pen. It would take so little movement to reach out and touch her knee, to run his hand up her thigh and see if it felt as smooth as it looked. _

 

***

Jack stayed in his room the next morning. He told Mr Butler he’d felt warm in the night and had had trouble sleeping, and so was just feeling a little tired - he felt guilty for lying to the man, for making him bring him his breakfast and then his lunch, but it was better than the alternative. 

 

The alternative being facing Phryne. 

 

She sent a message to him via Mr Butler and his lunch that she hoped he would be able to catch up with his rest, and didn’t come to visit him in his room. Thank god. 

 

The relief made him feel nearly as guilty as his dreams, and he hated himself for avoiding her, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her. He only needed to look at her to recall all the scandalous details of his dreams, and he was sure it was only a matter of time before she could read his thoughts on his face. 

 

Besides which, his interactions with Phryne seemed to be fuelling his dreams in very direct ways. He was struck by how beautiful she looked: he dreamed of her fan dancing. She told him about her visit to her dressmaker’s: he dreamed of her modelling a couture gown just for him. She leaned on the table next to him: he dreamed she was sitting on his desk, her skirt falling open to reveal her bare legs. Who knew what his imagination would come up with next? No, it was better all round if he distanced himself for a day to try to get a hold of himself. 

 

And so Jack sat in his armchair beside his bed, a book open on his lap but mostly staring into the unlit fireplace, musing over his dreams and what they could mean. On the surface, the meaning was fairly obvious - he was attracted to Phryne, and this was his mind’s way of dealing with it. This worked as an explanation, but still… Jack wasn’t satisfied with it. He’d been attracted to women before, and hadn’t reacted this way. Even when he was young, and less in control of himself, his dreams hadn’t been so… imaginative. Even when he first started courting Rosie, and he’d been besotted with her the way only a young man could be.

 

Perhaps it was because they were in such close quarters, without actually being involved. Apart from his mother and sister, who hardly counted in this context, Jack had never spent so much time with a woman other than Rosie. And his relationship with Phryne was obviously so far removed from what he’d had with his ex-wife that perhaps his mind was just trying to… work through that, somehow. 

 

No, it didn’t really make sense to him either. 

 

Jack asked Mr Butler for an early dinner in his room, and turned in almost as soon as he’d finished it. He heard Phryne arrive home while he was eating, and was half expecting her to come to his room, but she didn’t. He got ready for bed and lay awake in his slowly darkening room, listening to the faint sounds of her and her household going about their evening downstairs and staring at the painting of a theatre in Paris that was hanging on the wall until he couldn’t see it anymore. 

 

As he drifted off to sleep, he realised it was the first time he’d gone all day without seeing her since she’d returned from England. 

 

_ The paper is ripped aside to reveal the canvas - a nude woman, stretched out on a divan, her head tilted back as if in the throes of ecstasy. Jack’s eyes trace over the pale skin, the raven hair, the red lips, before flitting up to look at the woman herself, sitting watching him closely. He swallows, and she smiles.  _

 

Jack’s eyes flew open, and though his room was pitch black he knew he was looking directly at the painting he’d stared at before falling asleep. 

 

“Damn it.” 


End file.
